Spiders and Shadows
by FiaJane
Summary: Oz is back in Washington D.C. As the Turkish Ambassador's niece, she's obliged to partake in certain government events while he's in the states with her. Amongst the trickery of politics, Oz manages to harbor a few secrets that could potentially harm President Fitzgerald Grant's image. Along the way, she meets a peculiar classmate who shares similar secrets of his own.
1. Collision of Two Cities

How severely could the sun's heat burn her skin?

Sunblock. Oz discovered, a bit too late, that when one moves to the East Coast of America, sunblock is as necessary as chai in Turkey. She noted that it was essential for negating the burning sensation in the near future, and as she rode down Wisconsin Avenue, almost every person was applying it on his or her sweaty skin that humid afternoon.

Oz wished Kaya had cared to inform her that D.C. was a boiling pot of water in early October. She cruised down the busy pavement on her bamboo longboard. Her freckled arms were growing a scorched tan under the blazing sun. Oz had half a mind to roll down the sleeves of her shirt if not for the swift breeze that pacified the mild burn. It was one of the few relieving aspects of the country's capitol that Oz wholeheartedly embraced.

It was rather pleasant to blast music through her headphones as she balanced fluidly over her board. The wheels swayed in any which direction she leaned. Locals in sunglasses and shorts naturally strayed from her path of choice, but dancing over the longboard was enough to catch lingering stares. Oz applauded herself for remembering to grab her retro shades that afternoon before she left for the metro. No one could detect her curious gaze from underneath, nor the nerves that were beginning to surface as she struggled to spot her destination.

She crisscrossed over the length of the bamboo deck as the smooth pavement trailed behind her. There was nothing complicated about the motion once her music blasted away her negative thoughts. There was nothing to think about other than the breeze weaving through her short sandy hair and how it cooled the skin on her bare forearms and legs.

There was a sense of calmness in the air as _No Vacation_ began to consume the rest of her thoughts. It was a delightful feeling, one that was quite fleeting. Nevertheless, Oz shook away her nerves and refused to pay head to any onlookers or worry about her own insecurities of moving back to her childhood city. It was time she got her sense of direction back.

D.C. wasn't all too different from Turkey.

Oz often frequented near the ethereal Hagia Sophia and delicate stone mosques that stood tall and proud looking out to the violent waves of the Bosphorus. Here in D.C. the only body of water Oz could bear to admire was the calm currents of the Potomac River that grazed under the sophisticated stone-arched Arlington Memorial Bridge. It was a grand sight, very clean and orderly, but the lack of dust, color, and noise near the bridge left Oz rather homesick.

Without a doubt, Oz was . . . _adaptive_. She was quickly growing accustomed to serene waters and the classical architecture locked around scattered green parks. Deep in the city, there was culture, without a doubt. There was no shortage of live music, busy cafes, oblivious tourists, or local madmen that made Oz feel slightly less somber.

Her short-lived bliss of absorption was rudely interrupted as her phone began to ring. With slight aggravation, Oz hit the button on the cable of her headphones, answering the call as the music paused.

"Hello?" she said, continuing her cruise as she neared the Tenley Metro Station.

 _"Oz! Where are you?"_ It was her cousin, Kaya.

"I just passed the Metro." Oz shrugged, forgetting that phone calls couldn't detect body language, no matter how well she lied.

 _"Don't be late tonight! I'll be at the dinner by the time you get back, so I left your dress on your bed. My dad needs to think you're a good girl, so I picked out a rather modest piece for you."_ Kaya reminded Oz in a stern, but preoccupied voice.

Oz managed to laugh at this assertion. "Are you implying that I don't know how to dress myself?" she contested.

After all the misconduct she witnessed Kaya indulge in as a young woman in Turkey, it was amusing to hear her speak like a politician. It made sense, being that Kaya's father was the Turkish Ambassador to the U.S.

 _"Just don't be late."_ Kaya's voice shifted back to her youthful one.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Oz breathed.

 _"And have you met with Holly yet!? She'll be at Robeks waiting for you- right now, actually. Are you even near the shop!?"_

"Relax, I'm walking up to the smoothie shop as we speak," Oz lied, swerving out of a child's way. He was holding a melting ice cream cone; it would've been a shame if she, too, were to prevent him from enjoying a treat, let alone the sun beaming down its hellish rays upon his snack.

 _"Don't keep her waiting."_ Kaya warned as though reading off a list. _"She's not the type to cross and you're already late. Make sure that doesn't happen tonight."_

Oz gathered herself, looking back to see if the little boy was unharmed. "Okay, Kaya. I'm near the shop so I'll call you-"

"WATCH OUT!"

With haste, Oz turned her attention back to the direction in which her longboard was heading. Before the girl could shift her feet over the deck, she felt herself abruptly crash into a harsh metal bike and the boy who was idiotically riding it. The impact was sudden, but she felt as though the world stopped rotating once her movement was cut short.

A sudden loss of balance rendered her to fall backwards. To Oz's demise, she took down the boy and his metal monster with her.

Despite the groaning dead weight atop her body, it was the sound of a wooden board flipping carelessly along the cement that sent Oz's stomach to her feet. The pavement under her scraped limbs was scorching hot. Oz gritted her teeth, attempting to sit up from the crash and cursing this boy's existence. Aggravation was the first emotion that subdued her, considering she was tangled between the boy's limbs and his bike.

 _"OZ!"_ Kaya's protests filled her thoughts via her headphones; that miraculously remained on her head without any trouble. _"Oz! What's happening?!"_

"Nothing," Oz grunted, as she struggled to sit up. "I'll call you back."

Oz shoved the black headphones off her potentially concussed head and around her neck. She shoved the bike off her body once the boy got to his feet. Surprisingly, he rushed to retrieve Oz's board and couldn't seem to stop apologizing.

 _So much for enjoying a ride in the city,_ she thought to herself _._

"Oh, God!" he sounded slightly panicked as he addressed her on the floor, placing her board near her bloody knees. It was from the metal gears and chain of his bike. "I'm so sorry _,_ I wasn't looking ahead of me. It's like you appeared out of nowhere. Are you all right? I'm so-"

"-Sorry, yeah I heard you." Oz interjected during his subtle heart attack. "I'm fine." His dark eyes were genuinely worrisome, but Oz failed to notice as her hazel eyes remained fixed on the ground, scanning the area. "Or at least, I will be once I find my sunglasses."

Her sunglasses had haphazardly flown off her face on impact.

"Here," The apologetic boy rushed over to a pair of round black shades that laid broken a few feet away from where Oz sat. As he grew closer to Oz with her shattered sunglasses, she felt her heart sink further into the ground. It singed her crooked nose, of course that could've been from little sunburn, but those glasses were her darlings.It was like the boy was carrying a corpse and she couldn't look at the wreckage.

He held out his free hand for Oz. She took it without a word as he heaved her up to her feet, surprisingly with ease being that he wasn't a very muscular boy. She let go, ignoring her observation, and began patting off the dust from her clothes.

"I can buy you new ones if you'd like," he offered sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," Oz sighed, trying not to sound too disappointed, although there was a small part of her that was bitter and it was persuading her to blame this whole incident on the boy. And yet all he could do was apologize. She hated being the irrational one in any circumstance.

"You're bleeding," he pointed at her knees.

Oz bent down to wipe away the blood with some of the dirt on the sidewalk as the boy began to curse his clumsiness under his breath. She wondered if he often talked to himself.

"There," she stood up again. "All better."

It wasn't his fault, Oz understood that much, but the adrenaline of the crash influenced her behavior as she rushed up to her feet and planted one on her retrieved board.

"Wait! Where are you going?" he quickly asked.

Oz turned back to him, placing her headphones over her curls. She looked at him with puzzlement, "I'm late for work." she stated. "Did you need something?"

He ran a hand through his auburn hair and his cheeks appeared to grow a shade of pink. "I-um, It's just- uh," he hesitated, searching for the right words, and Oz wondered why he was too careful with them. "Do _you_ need something?" he asked, as though the very question confused him. As though he didn't believe those were the right words to say after colliding into someone with his bike.

Oz peered at him once more, a bit more skeptical this time. Did he expect more of a reaction? "No, thanks." She uttered. Without another word she kicked away the pavement behind her leaving the bumbling klutz to assume she needed nothing and that he should suspect nothing from her. With her mood off the rails, Oz propelled her board further and faster, away from the anxious stranger. Besides, he would feel calmer if she wasn't there to express her dismay anyway.

Broken shades and bruised knees; it was a great way to kick start her arrival back home.


	2. Red and Blue

Robeks wasn't too far from her new school. Sidwell Friends School. Oz calculated its distance with Google Maps ahead of time; you can never be too prepared. It was, after all, where she was to work four days a week after classes. Her schedule didn't include Sundays, but she decided to get her training in beforehand.

As she hopped off her board near the end Wisconsin Ave, Oz somewhat began to regret the idea of early training. She hated being late for anything; dentist appointments, movie screenings, even for school. Being on time was generally satisfying, and tardiness didn't sit as well in her stomach.

Oz slipped inside the slim building with her longboard at her side. The door jingled and the early autumn heat began to disappear. To her right there were towering windows to display the street outside. To her left was one round table with a few chairs surrounding it and beyond that was the long counter separating the walkway from the countless shelve of various colorful fruit and the versatile menu. Underneath was a long metal counter with compartmental freezers underneath instead of drawers. Above there were blenders and other tools for concocting smoothies.

The only other person in the narrow space was a short, portly woman sitting stoical behind the register at the far end of the shop. The lady was sweating away regardless of the air conditioning. Her pasty skin glistened a rash red as the sunlight peered in from the wall of windows, and what little hair she had was died a cheap blond. Her lips naturally rested in a pout and her eyes were acutely focused on Oz. This of course was Holly.

"You're late," The woman stated. She had a rough, smoker's voice. "And you're bleeding."

Oz peered down to spot a thin trail of red and brown blood running along her right leg, courtesy of reckless bike riding stranger. "I guess I was rushing too fast," She flashed Holly a winning smile, but it was clear the woman did not find this charming. Oz cleared her throat, "No excuses. It won't happen again." She grabbed a sanitizing paper towel from its dispenser near the round table, and she bent down to wipe away her botched knee. Underneath the red blood was blue skin. It stung a bit, but she tried her best to appear unbothered.

"It better not," Holly tipped her head to the side, as if to get a full view of Oz once she stood up tall.

Granted, Oz _was_ wearing a long sleeved shirt in this heat. The cut-off shorts and sneakers were easy to dig up from her carry on, but the rest of her summer clothes were trapped in one of her many suitcases back in Kaya's apartment. Oz clenched onto her board, as she always did when she wasn't sure what to do or say.

"So you're Kaya's sister?" Holly asked in a grating voice. She was definitely on the verge of a lung infection.

"Cousin, actually, but we practically grew up together."

"Oz?"

"Yes, Miss. Holly."

"You two don't look related." She speculated.

Translation: _You look white, but not white and I don't know how to form a solid opinion on your character._

"Well, she's half German, so." Oz didn't know how to continue that sentence.

Holly hummed in consideration. Kaya and Oz didshare close features. The two shared the same dirty blond curls, but in different lengths. Their wide smiles and freckled noses were nearly identical. The only differences were Oz's skin and her eyes. Her skin wasn't as pale as Kaya's and her hazel eyes were curved in different angles. Being racially ambiguous had its perks, but the downside was being observed like it was a guessing game.

Oz tried not to appear uncomfortable.

"Have you made smoothies before?" Holly questioned, arms crossed.

"Of course."

"Well we have fifteen different kinds. That doesn't include our yogurt bowls and juices." Holly mentioned sternly. She looked down at her watch. "It is now 4 PM. You can leave when you've learned at least ten."

"But I have to be somewhere at 7." Oz began, a small pit forming in her stomach.

"Listen, girl. I don't care that I owe Kaya a favor." Holly warned. "Do you want this job or not?"

"Well yes, but-"

"Well then you better get studying." Holly intervened.

Oz's ears grew red hot and her fingers were numb with disbelief as they often did when someone crossed her. For a woman named Holly, she was certainly quite the opposite of pleasant. Oz leered at the woman as she turned away from the register to retrieve a towel.

"Wash your filthy hands first." Holly proceeded to toss the towel at Oz's feet. The girl was reconsidering her agreement with Kaya.

 _Get a job or internship wherever_ , Kaya had ordered, _or live with my dad on Embassy Row. I don't want you spending your free time doing drugs and partying all night while I'm at work._

At first, Oz laughed at the thought. Drugs and drinking were not Oz's primary interests, although if working for Holly was her only option, then she was open to consider them. She would do anything to stay with Kaya on 8th Street right on Capitol Hill even if it meant working at Robeks until she could find a new job. Being that it was only her first day and she already hated this colorful smoothie shop, Oz would definitely begin looking.

* * *

 _Pineapple, Strawberries, Banana, Pineapple Sherbet, and Orange Juice._

It was exactly 6:15 PM when Oz finished listing off the ingredients of a South Pacific Squeeze. It wasn't until the Holly grunted at her with approval when Oz felt a sliver of life race back to her conscious.

"I expect you back tomorrow after school." she waved Oz's smile away. "Throw your apron in the back before you go."

Oz was out of that building with her feet balancing over her board within seconds after being dismissed. She could hear Holly calling after her, but it was nearly 6:30 and Oz needed to get dressed for a certain . . . government official dinner.

The Tenley Town Metro Station was mere feet away from Oz. The sight of it was glorious. The stairs leading down into the earth sent her heart to the moon that was making its way into the sky. She practically danced down the stairs after hopping off her board.

Oz noticed there weren't many people walking around. It was Sunday, most families were at home and the college students from American University were already drowning in their local bars. She could hear her footsteps in the dead of the station. Her train was bound to make its way through the tunnels in less than a minute . . . but why did she feel unsettled?

Her footsteps echoed in the vacant underground station.

No one to her right, no one to her left, just a couple of footsteps trailing down the staircase she had already descended from. Something in Oz's imagination sent her rational mind array. It was her first time riding the Metro alone. Her father had always been there with her when she was a child. In Istanbul there was no need for public transits. Her family had personal drivers on duty for any errand or trip. But her parents were gone.

Now, Oz was alone, more than ever.

It was always this specific fear that harnessed Oz's mind when she was alone at night, and she wondered how it was for men during these circumstances. Did they ever feel safe and secure? Did they worry just as most women and young girls do?

Sometimes Oz forgot that she could get out of these situations with _light_ as her savior, but then not every woman could do what she could . . .

Still, Oz looked to the ground without moving her head. She didn't move the loose strand of sandy hair upon her cheek or adjust the headphones around her neck. She didn't even breathe. She simply watched her own shadow before her, casted by the fluorescent lights behind her . . . and then waited as two more bold shadows formed on either side of her.

Oz stopped thinking when those footsteps faltered right behind her. She didn't dare to look back. _Maybe they were waiting for the train_ , she tried convincing herself, then she wouldn't have to do it. Her abnormal breathing said otherwise. She wished for the sound of an oncoming train but it did not come no matter how desperately she shouted the thought in her mind. She pleaded, yet it did not come.

 _And then it began._

Her worst fears came to life the moment a hand reached around her head and over her mouth. Another hand reached for her limbs, Oz dropped her longboard as the man twisted her arms back. Even as her body was tense with shock, she didn't cry out.

She never did.

With her hands restrained and another pair of rough hands pulling her short hair back and covering her mouth, Oz breathed out softly regardless of her panic.

And within seconds she disappeared into _mist._

Her body slid through the hands of both men, being that she was no longer in solid form. Oz commanded and she became solid with their shadows.

From below, Oz saw the confusion written horrifically on the bold men's faces. They were brutish and twice her size, and unaware that she was hovering just below them, attached to their own being in the form of light.

Though Oz couldn't physically grasp on to anything in shadow form, she could in fact travel by jumping from one to the next.

Suddenly the sound of her train came into existence. It was distant, but present. Before the men could leave, Oz traced her shapeless self over to the shadow of her long board. From there she became herself again. The closest sensation that mimicked her way of shadow jumping was ice skating but at a faster pace. Slipping into a shadow of a person or object of any shape or size, it was like hurling down a waterfall. There was a rush of energy and your breathing hitched as though you were falling from great heights until you landed in a shape of darkness that took hold of your spirit. Oz still had her senses, but she couldn't speak or touch or move without the object or person being in movement.

When Oz took hold of her body again, it was as though she was solidifying from feet to forehead out of mist.

The men had their backs to her. Swiftly, Oz took hold of her longboard, and she raised it over her head before bashing it on the bald head of the taller one. With a solid cracking sound, he fell to the floor like dead weight, but it alerted the other one. The sight of her sent horror down the throat of the portly man who tried to abduct her.

"You!" he pointed at Oz, "You're a-" but before he could finish his sentence, there was a whizzing sound that flew past Oz's right ear. A splat followed as it landed on the man's mouth. His words were muffled by a thick white substance, but Oz could tell he was screaming. She held her longboard defensively, as if to make another attack. She turned to catch sight of the person- or thing, that conjured this weapon.

No one else was in the station.

Oz felt she needed to hurry as the sounds of the train echoed closer through the tunnels. She looked back at the men. The mute one rushed to wake up his friend on the ground. Oz had to make a choice. She could blind these men with her ability to yield light before the train made its way through. Or she could let them go, and not have to use her powers.

Nevertheless, Oz put down her board and held out her arms. She took in a deep breath, and her thoughts were clouded by the sound of metal against tracks. White light accumulated on her fingertips, not as though she was producing it, but _stealing_ it.

In one breath, she was ready to wipe out their eyesight. In the next, another shot of white slipped out of the darkness and landed on the unconscious one's limbs. Startled, Oz let her fingers relax. Four whizzing sounds popped as they made contact with the ground. All four restrained the man's limbs to filthy floor of the station.

The larger partner flung himself back in fear and confusion, looking for the source. He reached into his jacket, Oz had a feeling she knew what was about to happen. But the man wouldn't shoot her, she was the _goods_ in this scenario. Impulsively, she rushed over to the restrained man to observe the adhesive white material. She bent down to touch the one around his wrist. It was cool, and quite strong, almost _web-like._

Oz's cocked her head in confusion.

 _He was here?_

"COMING THROUGH!" came a voice from above.

Oz jerked her head in the direction of it. A man, well so much as the shape of one, covered in a suit of red and blue was swinging his way down the steps of the station. And he was swinging directly for Oz.

"DUCK!" He shouted.

An inch, a mere inch away from collision, but Oz slipped her form into the shadow of the unconscious man. The only thing the man kicked was the mist she left behind. She saw from below, the man used his momentum to kick the other kidnapper onto his back. His gun flew away from his grip and slid near Oz in shadow form. This one fell with a heavier thud than the tall man did and his cries of pain were more so a nuisance than any indication of serious injury.

The swinging man let go of his web during the kicking process and formed another one from his free wrist that latched onto the ceiling of the station. He was suspended in the air as the man groaned for help.

"Relax, buddy." the masked man assured him, in a very youthful voice. "We'll have a few cops here soon to escort you to a hospital." With one hand holding him up on the web, he used the other to shoot four smaller webs aimed at the man. The white webs restrained him onto the ground, in an almost identical fashion to the taller one.

The train rushed through the tunnel with a sigh and Oz became mist. She was herself again within seconds. A gust of wind swept her short hair in every which way. The train was here, but this time she was in no rush to harm the strange suited man before her. The gun was near Oz's foot, so if there was any funny business she'd have a way out of it. Though Oz doubted she'd need it. She was more focused on the fact that she could breathe easier with both men unconscious.

"Woah!" She heard him exhale even with the rush of rails and wind from the train. He let go and shot another web directly above Oz before he could fall to the ground. She stepped back instinctively put he flipped over in a deftly fashion before suspending himself upside down before Oz.

"What are you?" He wondered through the mask, mostly to himself. His face was mere inches away from Oz. She stood wide-eyed, unsure of how his optics worked underneath the mask. "God! I've never met another one here in D.C!" He surveyed Oz for a quick moment before lurching himself upward and landing dexterously on the space between both criminals. He was certainly one for theatrics.

"Another what?" Oz asked carefully. "I'm not like you. You're-"

"-I'm Spiderman," he intervened, his chest suddenly held high. "Now, I know what you're thinking. ' _What's he doing out of New York?'_ Well today's you're lucky day-"

"My luck day?" Oz cut in, her eyebrows narrowed.

Through his stance, he appeared a bit- confused was Oz's best guess. He practically deflated.

"Well I just saved your life." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I was doing just fine, actually." Oz mimicked his stance, " _You_ just did the clean up."

He sounded truly offended when he said, " _Clean up?_ I'd say I did 89% of the job." he finished with both hands on his hips.

The train stopped completely with another heavy sigh and the doors slid open.

Oz surveyed the man's stance, his suit, his tone. " _Spiderman_." The name didn't taste right coming from her. It was almost too sarcastic to swallow. Oz took hold of her longboard once more. She hadn't the time to sit back and chat. "Look, I've got somewhere to be."

"As a matter of fact, _so do I!_ Miss. Disappear!"

As soon as people rushed out of their train their eyes went wide with concern at the men webbed to the ground, but then they were in awe at Spiderman. They pointed, pulled out their phones, and chanted his name as though he were . . . well, a superhero. Considering what Oz could do, she didn't possess the same amount of infatuation as the public did. But that didn't mean she wasn't intrigued by his inclination to use his abilities for good, no matter how haughty he was in person.

"These two right here!" he addressed the crowd, "Make sure the police detains them! They most likely work for the Lady Thieves of D.C.!"

"Oh, thank goodness." A few older folks had muttered.

With one swift wrist motion, a web shot out from his suit and onto the high ceiling above the stairs. "Good night, kids!" he saluted to the children running toward him. Right before he propelled himself off the floor of the station, Oz could've sworn he peered at her from under his mask. Like most heroes, he was gone in a split second, right before anyone could ask him a question or request a high-five.

Oz's breathing was relaxed once more. She spotted a few people on their phones speaking with 911 dispatchers. The unconscious men on the floor, they weren't her problem anymore, and she didn't want to be here to answer questions either. Although it made her sick to her stomach, Oz slipped into the train and released a deep breath once the doors slid closed. She still had obligations, she still had somewhere to be. She couldn't let this get to her, not when she was headed to the White House.


	3. State Dinner

There was nothing stopping Oz once she got off the bus on 8th Street. The metro mishap had cost the frantic girl nearly an hour of time, which meant the White House State Dinner for the Prime Minister of Turkey was already taking place.

Oz had to be there, she had to be there for her uncle the Ambassador, and for Kaya. It was her first few days back in the states and she could not give them a reason to think she didn't take her stay here seriously. So Oz whirled past the locals on her longboard without any tricks or spins, speed was of the essence, and she made it to her cousin's apartment by 7:00 PM.

Oz mentally gave herself ten minutes to slip into her dress and apply some sort of makeup to cover the redness on her sweaty face. The attack she slipped through only an hour ago still sent shivers down her spine, but she forced away the nerves. She told herself the authorities would take care of it and that she didn't even have to blind anyone. Not anymore. That was a relief in itself.

 _And Spiderman?_

Well, he was the only one in the United States of America who knew what Oz was. _What she really was_. To her benefit, he wasn't quite as active on social media than the public had hoped. Oz figured she didn't have to stress over her secret being compromised by a man who happened to have a secret identity himself. She had escaped from potential rape, that much was a blessing enough to send her mind to peace . . . but it didn't.

Why should escaping rape be _relieving_? It shouldn't be a problem in the first place. Oz had never grown content with the notion that women were basically never safe when they were alone and in public, especially during the night. She'd experienced the horrifying escape a few times before, but that doesn't mean she'd ever accept it. Oz never felt relief whenever she avoided that demise. No one should ever accept the unfortunate evil of this world. It should spark outrage.

Thinking of societal and moral contradictions led Oz to find herself frozen in the darkness of her room. She shook her head, although she couldn't quite remember how she had gotten inside.

On her bed lay a black dress that Kaya had left out for her, as well as a pair of heels. Oz skipped the heels and kept her sneakers on once she was dressed in a rather formfitting dress with a lace neckline and sleeves. The perfectly tailored torso halted at the waist hugging skirt that flared out elegantly to her toes. Her white chucks would go unnoticed, and she needed stability if she were to get out on time. Dark lipstick and an updo could never go wrong. With a quick peek in her mirror, Oz was already out the door.

The rushing sensation that formed in her gut was enough to send her prior anxieties away. In that moment, she knew what she was required to do, and it didn't involve coaxing the part of her brain that was still unsteady with fear.

* * *

 _7:45 PM_

A dress may have not been the best possible option.

Oz raced out of the Metro Center Station and she was heading down G Street within minutes of hopping on her longboard. She kicked back her foot three times along the concrete. With one hand she clutched on the skirt of her dress while as she leaned forward for optimum speed. Her stance atop her deck showcased her shoes and bloody knees for curious onlookers to see.

 _That's right!_ Oz held her chin up, _keep moving! Mind your damn business!_ She even held eye contact with people who were rude enough to blatantly stare at her. _That_ certainly made others feel uncomfortable; at least in the states.

City strollers were definitely ogling and it wasn't because of the sight of a young girl in an enchanting dress rushing down the busy block. Oz's knees were indeed stained with dry blood and fresh bruises from, not one, but two of the conundrums she endured both earlier that afternoon and just over an hour ago.

It was times like these when she considered taking interest in a bike instead of a board, maybe even a driver's license.

Foot traffic was insanely heavy on that cool night as Oz lunged forward and leaned to and fro around businessmen and women who were heading to the nearest bar or on the look out for their ubers. G Street consisted of banks, high-end restaurants, offices on the higher levels of the towering buildings, and most importantly it was en-route to the White House.

Though the sidewalks were wide enough for Oz to maneuver around, she found herself lost in the architecture. She peered up and behind the four blocks she blazed by. Wisps of loose sandy hair whirled in and out of her eyesight as she inhaled the sight. A majority of the buildings were of the same height. D.C.'s cityscape was much more uniformed than that of New York or even Istanbul. The colors were muted and classic brick structures were well polished in every crevice. Almost everything near the heart of the capitol was crisp and uniform. It was a complete upgrade from the colorful outskirts of the city.

At the end the block, Oz cut a sharp left to prevent a collision with a flustered old man in black. The suited adults only increased as she raced down 15th Street. The tip of the Washington Monument was illuminated against the dark backdrop of the sky, which meant she finally reached her destination. Oz was only moments away from finally starting the evening so that it could promptly end with her bruised body upon her bed.

* * *

The brick pavement sent a vibrating rhythm from Oz's wheels to her feet on the board. At the pace she was heading, anyone foolish enough to step in her path would surely suffer major injuries. Especially the men and women in uniform who heavily guarded the perimeter of the White House lawn.

Oz came to a halt right at the border where two small booths of entrance guards sat leisurely in their air conditioned boxes. From where she stood, Oz spotted the colorful lights emitting from the South Entrance of the White House.

She was so very close, and so very thankful for the countless shadows scattered across the lawn. The sun was nearly set, and darkness sat around Oz, save for the slips of light that cast her form of transportation.

Oz held her board close and dropped the length of her dress. Shadow jumping didn't limit much in terms of traveling. Oz once shadow jumped from her her home in Istanbul to the coast with a full backpack of sandwiches and books. The only difference was that it took a little more effort to travel from one space to the next. Humans were a mystery though. Oz had never tested shadow jumping with another person. The sadness pulled at her fears for a brief second. She thought of her mother. Layla Ilyas, her loving mother, kept Oz's gift a secret, but Oz never asked her to experience her liberating means of transportation. And now she never could.

As the girl in black dissipated into mist and fell into the shadow of a car, she jumped from the street to the shadow of the entrance booths and from there it was the brutish shadows of other men in black. It took seconds to jump from the fence to the grand entrance. She was swimming across the lawn of the White House in the pool of Secret Service shadows.

One could only detect Oz's movement from above, but even that was hard to decipher. Many guards on the Truman Balcony of the White House considered the shifting shadow as a trick of the eye. A glitch in their vision.

There were limitations to Oz's ability. Oz couldn't slip into a shadow that wasn't cast by a living thing or object. In _shadow form_ , she could never hide unless there was something to hide behind, and so her shadow form was never isolated in plain sight. Although there were certainly other ways Oz could hide that didn't involve a host.

Eventually, the guards trailed their eyes elsewhere as Oz made her way from the lawn of the South Entrance to the darker crevice near the stones of the white house. In the vacant corner, Oz briefly formed into herself again. She left her longboard behind the bushes and quickly slipped back into her shadow form leaving a trail of mist behind her. From there she swiftly jumped into the long shadows of trees that were cast on the large columns upon the Truman Balcony. Oz trailed up a column and finally to the balcony floor of the President's home.

Down on the shadow of a man dressed in a black suit, Oz felt the light of the Yellow Oval Room behind her. She could hear chatter among the many guests and soft music beyond the glass doors that were slightly creaked open. _That was her way in._

Beside the man in black stood four other guards at each column. Their eyes were on the garden and lawn. No doubt there were cameras placed near the columns or even in the evergreen plants placed by the iron fence of the balcony. Of course, Oz couldn't stay in the shadow of a guard forever. _Shadows were never permanent._ She had to make her move, praying that no eyes were casually observing the balcony from inside the White House nor through the hidden cameras.

Oz held her breath and let go of her control on the shadow she took refuge in. Through the black mist, the flowing fabric of her skirt took shape. As swift as the wind, Oz's waist and clenched fists appeared, and finally her chest, neck, and face. She was in full form, the black mist was completely gone, as though it painted Oz into existence and then left right after she took her first breath. Oz felt the brisk autumn air prick her skin under the thin lace material. Her breathing was even and her skin wasn't flush despite her travels from the borders of White House Security to the actual balcony.

The music from inside was loud enough to engulf the sound of her footsteps as she stepped backwards, closer to the glass doors. Oz's eyes were focused on the six guards spanning the perimeter of the balcony. Her hand carefully traced the wood and glass of the balcony doors. She found the handle and exhaled one final breath before pulling it forward.

 _It creaked._

Oz froze.

All six guards swerved from their positions to face her. Instinctively, they all reached a hand behind their suits, most likely to pull out a gun if anyone suspicious had caused the noise. Although Oz's body tensed up in panic, she was relieved to see the men and women eye her with confusion instead of hostility.

Without another second of silence, Oz pulled the door wide open, letting in a flush of chatter. "I'm sorry," she voiced nervously. "Are we not allowed out here?" she asked the guards, glancing at all of them with her eyes as wide and childlike as she could shape them.

She knew her act was a success when most of the guards relaxed their stance and turned their eyes back to the garden. Only one of them remained fixed on Oz.

"Guests are restricted any access to the Truman Balcony tonight, Miss." He informed Oz in a deep, grizzly voice with a hint of annoyance. "Please make your way back inside."

Oz nodded her head rigorously. "Of course! Sorry again, I didn't mean to. Thank you!" With that not so fabricated depiction of anxiousness, Oz slipped inside the Yellow Oval Room and shut the door behind her.

Once inside, she felt a wonderful rush of relief. Oz adjusted the skirt of her black dress and brushed a few stray curls behind her ears before standing up straight with a sense of accomplishment.

From where Oz stood, she absorbed the warm atmosphere of the Yellow Oval Room. The room definitely lived up to its name. Oz had been here before, but she was a young girl then and hadn't paid much attention to the elegant gold accents in the cascading curtains or the lavish chandelier and the classical furniture it was suspended over.

The first time Oz came here, there weren't many guests either.

The rush of conversation finally hit her when she caught sight of her uncle. Evren Kilic, Turkish Ambassador to the Unites States was speaking with a senator near the fireplace. Somehow, his blue eyes caught sight of Oz in the frenzy of guests that walked along the diameter of the room with cocktails in their hands. Uncle Evren. A stoic, yet kind man; which wasn't a popular dynamic among most politicians. Even the slightest of nods meant he was worried for her or relieved that she was safe. Oz smiled back in his direction. He acknowledged her once more and then returned his attention back to the senator.

For some reason, that sense of approval evened Oz's breathing. This was her first objective to carry out since came back. Oz was worried she would disappoint, or somehow ruin her chance at staying with her cousin. It was a silly thought. The roots of her anxiety didn't stem from the idea that her uncle was ill tempered enough to ship her back to Turkey over a small mishap. Instead, Oz simply seeked the approval of her elders. It raged within her since she was a child.

Now, Oz wished to show her family that she was worth something and that she was no longer the nervous, stumbling girl they once perceived her to be. The success of tonight was Oz's first few steps. She would be responsible, she would be calm, she would do her best to stay in order. Not because she was afraid of her family, but because she was afraid of what horrors she was capable of if she were to lose control.

Kaya's image snapped Oz back into the present. She appeared distinct in the crowd of both American and foreign politicians as well as older celebrities that Oz had seen on TV. Her cousin wore a flowing dress that matched Oz's own design, but Kaya's was a deep red that complimented her wheat colored curls that flowed past her sleek shoulders. Looking at Kaya suddenly made Oz feel smaller than usual. It may have been the absence of heels, but her cousin never failed to appear like a queen that stepped straight out of a fantasy novel.

Oz held her chest up high and made her way around the clusters of guests drinking champagne and nibbling on appetizers. The President and First Lady were nowhere to be seen, which meant they were probably heading down the Grand Staircase with the Turkish Prime Minister and his wife for the formal entrance.

As the guests were led out of the Yellow Oval Room, Kaya made her way to Oz. Her hazel eyes were filled with signs of skepticism. She didn't say a thing, but she did grab hold of Oz's arm and calmly led her to the exit. If not for the foot of height Kaya had over Oz, they might have appeared as sisters, but it was always Oz's eye shape that challenged their relation.

"You're late." Kaya said through a clipped smile. There were journalists and photographers in every crevice, but the blaring music began from the State Floor. The United States Marine Band played a traditional tune as the President made his appearance from down below.

"Take it up with Holly." Oz gritted her teeth in a similar wide smile as they cluttered with the rest of the pristine guests into the corridor. "She's not exactly the most empathetic boss. And there was traffic by the time I got out." Oz managed to withhold the whole metro story, no matter how badly she wanted Kaya to know this small setback wasn't completely her fault. However, that would include the part where she was nearly abducted, resulting in the assignment of a few body guards for precaution, which Oz would not be too happy with.

"I should've sent our driver for you when I had the chance." Kaya exhaled, letting Oz's minor mistake go with a slight relaxation of the shoulders. "Oh well, at least you're here. And no, I'm not going to ask how you got through security without a name card or mention that I didn't see you enter through the main doors of the room."

Oz mentally thanked Kaya's discretion, no matter how passive aggressive it was.

"At least I'm here, right?" Oz smiled genuinely as they followed the line of guests down the Grand Staircase.

"There is _that_ miracle." Kaya sighed. "Why aren't you wearing heels?" she then questioned in her normal voice, "I look like your damn mother from up here."

Oz didn't mean to wince, but Kaya sensed the tension in her shoulders as they made it to the red carpet of the Entrance Hall.

"I'm sorry," Kaya said in her ear.

Oz shook away her sudden grief. "I'm fine." she said with a weaker smile to mask the tension that formed on her face at mention of her mother.

Kaya looked down upon Oz with a meaningful glance. Her slim fingers reached for the stray hairs on Oz's face and she tucked them behind her ear. "You look enchanting tonight, darling."

Her cousin reached around her shoulder and held her close. It felt nice, to be embraced, to be comforted by someone who cared. Especially after the events that engulfed Oz that night. Together, Oz and Kaya walked along the white corridor of the State Floor and into the State Dining Room.

* * *

The air inside was cooler for some odd reason, but the decor was ethereal.

Although the curtains shielded the moonlight, the meticulously placed lights and dimness of the chandelier mimicked the effect of moonlight. It was a soft luminescence with hints of orange and red to compliment the autumn season and perhaps the red Turkish flag.

Festive leaves and flowers were hung around the room in clusters near candelabras and famous paintings, as well as upon each round table. There were at least ten tables scattered along the grand dining room that held lit candles and numerous plate arrangements for each guest. The chairs were a rustic gold finish with brown cushioning to match the menus. Everything in the hall had a purpose, there was a certain complexity to the planning of it all. It was an art in itself.

The room was an intimate setting that most guests studied in awe. The display of perfection reminded Oz of royalty. Although her father once worked for the Turkish Prime Minister, she never attended dinners like this as much as she wished to. Oz embraced the delight feeling of exclusivity, perhaps to ignore events that troubled her from earlier that day. This State Dinner was well organized and timely, Oz took comfort in the clockwork of it all as waiters and ushers led guests to their tables.

Cameras were scarce in here and the doors were closed behind Oz. Men in black surrounded the perimeter. Oz was led to her table near the west end of the room which was in close proximity to the table that held the most important men of the night. She spotted the familiar faces of Turkish Prime Minister Binali Yildirim and his wife Semiha. They were more polished in person. The couple stood near their seats at the main table located under the famous painting of Abraham Lincoln. It sat above the fireplace that displayed a calm fire. Directly next to the Prime Minister stood President Fitzgerald Grant III and First Lady Mellie Grant.

Together, the leaders of the United States and Turkey stood tall and orderly, waiting for the remaining guests to find their seats. It was intriguing for Oz to witness such powerful men doing something as mundane as attending a dinner. Intriguing, yet entertaining.

Oz stood a mere ten feet away from President Grant. With his rugged features, he displayed a soft smile to his guests. It was almost uncanny to see him this close. Just beyond his image, Oz felt a pair of black eyes on her.

The table beside the President held his daughter, a few other important guests, and then . . . Oz recognized him.

He was staring directly at her as the President informed the guests to take their seats. Oz stared back into his black eyes as she sat down beside Kaya. It was the boy who ran into her this morning. Oddly enough, he smiled at her.

The very image of him smiling confused Oz. He had recognized her as well, but was there anything to smile about when their only interaction involved a foolish collision resulting in a few deep gashes on her legs? Oz didn't think so. In return, she raised a brow to depict her disbelief, but she was stubborn enough to keep her focus on him.

He was sitting next to the President's daughter, which meant he was important. Oz pondered over the boy as he held her gaze. He wouldn't be staring so blatantly at Oz if he were dating Karen Grant, which meant he wasn't anyone's plus one. He wasn't speaking with the young men and women around him, which meant he wasn't quite accustomed to these kind of dinners. There was a rogue quality to him now that he wasn't stumbling over apologies, but the naiveté was subtly present.

Oz surveyed his features and it all clicked. His bone structure was just as sharp and strong as Fitzgerald Grant's, but not as rugged. The boy had a sense of youth in his black eyes and his skin wasn't nearly as aged with worry and stress. However, the style of their hair was quite similar despite the age difference. Oz had never seen the boy prior to her collision with him, perhaps they were of distant relation.

She was quite impressed with her deciphering skills that night. Oz showcased a final coy grin before turning her attention back to Kaya; who was chatting away despite the fact that Oz wasn't paying any attention to what she'd been saying. It was an interesting and unusual night for Oz, overwhelming, but interesting.

"Whatever happened to you earlier today?" Kaya asked.

Oz paused momentarily. For a brief moment she felt the gloved hands of those men wrap around her hair and body, but then she remembered her short-lived phone call with her cousin that afternoon.

"Some idiot ran into me with his bike."


	4. The Sociopath

"She's here," Peter whispered.

"Excuse me, Mr. Vice President, as I tend to the President's nephew regarding a very important science project."

Mr. Stark finally stood up from his seat, excusing himself from the table filled with famous politicians and Hollywood A-listers. The ingenious engineer and owner of Stark Industries ushered Peter away from the table of celebrities. Peter tried not to stare too hard at the familiar faces as he waved an awkward hand in their direction. He'd momentarily forgotten that he was in a bit of a hurry to get Mr. Stark's attention. He had wanted to run to Mr. Stark the moment he saw the girl walk into the room, but waited patiently until a few guests began to swap tables and greet other guests.

"Do you have any idea how suggestive our interactions could appear in the public eye?" Mr. Stark muttered in Peter's ear as they ambled to a more secluded area. "Don't answer that, it was rhetorical."

"I know! I know!" He sputtered apologetically, as he often did when trying to explain anything to any adult. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, but she's here!" Peter whispered, a bit too enthusiastically.

"Calm it down, kid." Mr. Stark's eyes were on the other guests and he spoke with his hands as though he were detailing some sort of machinery. "Breathe in and out like a normal person and point her out."

Peter raised a hand.

" _No!_ Not physically." Mr. Stark warned with a slight shake of the head and a smile. "Turn your head a bit, use your eyes."

Peter dropped his hands to his sides, suddenly forgetting how to appropriately arrange them in order to appear natural. He did as he was instructed. To his relief, the girl wasn't looking at him. She was speaking with the woman next to her, who she resembled quite a bit but not enough to declare them siblings.

"West end, curly hair." he said. Peter turned back to Mr. Stark. His charismatic boss appeared in control and relaxed at the same time as he eyed the table. Peter tried to mimic his posture as best as he could without appearing suspicious.

"The fine lady in red is the one you saw in a dirty metro station?" he deadpanned with disbelief.

"What?" Peter shook his head. "No, the girl next to her. Black dress, her hair's in a bun and she's frowning at whatever the guy next to her is saying."

Mr. Stark voiced his recognition followed by the sound one makes when enduring second-hand embarrassment. "He appears to be trying a little too hard and she doesn't seem the slightest bit interested in Senator Tupelo's teenage son."

Peter began with mild impatience, "Sir, are you forgetting that she's-"

"Maybe she's not into blonds," Mr. Stark shrugged, his eyes were still on the girl. "Or maybe it's because his family is heavily tied in with politics. Could be the daddy issues. Sorry, kid. I don't think you're her type."

"Mr. Stark, I think you're missing the point, she's-"

"The Turkish Ambassador's niece. Her father, Omar Ilyas, was a Turkish Cabinet member under Prime Minister Binali Yildirim until last year when he was brutally murdered in his own home. She arrived here last week, just six months after the sudden death of her mother. Now she's at a White House State Dinner representing her late father and her uncle. Maybe that's why she looks so solemn? Or it could be that she's a sociopath and killed both her parents if what you're saying is true."

What troubled Peter the most about Mr. Stark's heavily detailed break down of the girl's background was the utter lack of concern and sheer wonder in his voice. _He wasn't kidding._

With wide eyes, Peter shifted in front of Mr. Stark to obstruct the view of the girl/potential murderer.

" _Jesus_ , do you know her social security number, too?"

"Do kids refuse to watch the news out of spite or is it just you who refuses to act like a normal human being?"

Peter ran a hand through his hair, deciding to dodge a petty argument with the 'so called' adult he was speaking with. "Trust me, Mr. Stark. I don't think she's a murder."

"But you said she can become a shadow, is that right?" Mr. Stark's full focus was now on Peter.

"Well, kind of." Peter started, recalling the event he'd witnessed just a few hours ago, he was still in awe just thinking about it. "It's like she melts into smoke and then becomes a part of a shadow that already exists. It was incredibly amazing, I've never seen anything like it. She moved from one to the next, it was-"

"Lethal." Mr. Stark cut off. He stepped a bit closer to Peter and said in a low voice, "Do you know how easily she could perform an assassination right now in this room without anyone knowing it was her?"

Peter stepped away, considering the thought. He looked at the girl across the room. She was definitely bemused by Chase Tupelo's thoughts on his vacation to Aruba that he wouldn't stop talking about. She was solemn, yes, but nothing about her expression could be labeled as _lethal_. She _did_ knock a man unconscious back in the metro station. _But that was self defense,_ Peter reminded himself, although she did slip away from those men deftly . . . like she had done it before. She didn't scream or hesitate. As Peter thought back to that moment, he remembered her as being calm and collected, unlike the shaken and horrified girls he'd saved before. Those girls had every right to express their fear, but this girl, she appeared disinterested but _tranquil_.

 _Why didn't she wait for the cops? Why did she hop on the next metro train to the White House for a State Dinner?_ _Why didn't she tell her uncle?_ This must've been what Mr. Stark considered before making assumptions, and he was often right. _Could she be a sociopath?_

"No, she wouldn't." He tried to convince himself. "Even if she did try, she'd have to form into herself again to use her hands. Everyone would see her."

"You're smart, kid." Mr. Stark began, " _Think_. She's obviously a mutant, their powers are much more complex than simple addition. If she harnesses power from light and the absence of it, then she can manipulate it as well. Do the math."

"She can camouflage herself with the light." Peter concluded with heavy realization.

"Invisibility." Mr. Stark confirmed.

Peter shook his head, "That doesn't mean she's a murderer."

"That's what you're going to find out."

"Me?" Peter turned his attention back to Mr. Stark but he was already walking away. He quickly caught up with him. "Why me? Can't you just use your government connections to investigate?"

"I don't understand you, Peter. You say you want to do more, but you complain when I give you a simple assignment."

"This isn't an assignment," Peter said, weaving through guests. "This is you being lazy."

"No, this is me waiting for the right opportunity to call Miss. Pope for her assistance." Mr. Stark abruptly stopped in his path, causing Peter to walk right into his figure. As Peter apologized, Mr. Stark began adjusting his insanely expensive suit and then his dark hair as if it were a reflex. "We need more information, even if we _are_ going to unofficially convict her of anything while she's on American soil."

"Woah!" Before Mr. Stark could turn away again, Peter stepped in his path."Look, I only asked you to look into her because I thought you'd- I don't know, take her under your wing or something."

"Well, what did you expect?"

Peter raised his shoulders in defense, "I didn't think you'd accuse her of murder and order a freaking investigation!"

"Even if she didn't murder anyone, what makes you think she'd want anything to do with S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he questioned passively. "Most mutants just want to live normal lives."

"Did they find whoever murdered her dad?" Peter asked, refusing to answer Mr. Stark's question. Nothing about this girl's life would ever be normal, he knew that best.

"No."

Peter's eyes lit up, "Then it means a murderer is still out there."

"Yeah," Mr. Stark said, "in Turkey."

"What if he followed her here?" Peter questioned, his thoughts storming up the possibilities. "What if she's his next target? What if he's connected to the Lady Thieves?"

"I asked you to look into the girl, not an investigation that the police are handling."

"We came to D.C. for _real_ assignments," Peter finally argued what bothered him most that night. "And you've been keeping me busy with work that the police and lawyers in suits can do. I'm getting really close at finding the Lady Thieves. He works with a pattern! I can find him, just let me do this!" Peter took a breath and relaxed his shoulders before finally saying, "Please."

Mr. Stark considered Peter's plea for a brief moment, but his face was indecipherable. "Get close with the girl and then we'll talk."

Peter deflated. He almost made a scene, but caught himself. "You're no fun," he grumbled.

"Sure, but I made your Aunt May a promise. You can only help if you're excelling in school. You can't exactly help if you're missing first period every day for the past two weeks."

Peter was ready to give a list of reasons as to why he'd been missing class, but decided not lose even further in this conversation. "Fine," he sighed. "What's her name?"

"I don't know."

"You know her whole life story but you don't know her name?" Peter scoffed.

"It's really long and- foreign." Mr. Stark turned away.

"You _are_ getting lazy."


	5. The Nephew

_Chad? Charles?_

Oz hadn't the slightest idea what he was saying. She had forgotten his name along with the events of his "radical" vacation to Aruba. He'd brought up the topic after asking where Oz was from. She wanted to say she was American. It was the truth after all. Oz was born in D.C. and moved to Turkey when she was ten years old, but her parents were full Turks and she decided not to discourage the pretty boy. Though, when she gave him the answer he wanted to hear, she didn't expect him to connect Turkey with Aruba.

 _"Oh, I've never been there but have you been to Aruba?"_

 _Totally different continent_ , she thought to herself.

He was a sight for sore eyes. _Senator Tupelo's son_ , Kaya had whispered to her followed by a subtle wink, as though it would increase what little interest Oz had. She did let the boy prattle on about the beach as she glazed her eyes over his strong jawline and impressively symmetrical features. His blond hair was long, luminescent, and tied back into a bun to match his burly body. He was a picture perfect specimen, but hard to listen to for more than ten minutes.

To Oz's relief, Channing excused himself from their table. Kaya had left as well, Oz was alone at her table. She deflated in her seat once he was out of sight and felt that no one was watching.

Keeping up appearances was harder than she had expected. This was the first high profile government dinner she had attended in quite some time. In Turkey, her father always gave her a choice; whether or not she wished to attend an official dinner or function. She'd decline most of her invitations, claiming it was her studies she was occupied with when really it was the stress of appearing normal and proper in the public eye. Every few months or so she'd accompany her father, but only to please him and her mother. Uncle Evren didn't force Oz to attend tonight's dinner, but she was inclined to show him that she was reliable, no matter how uncomfortable she felt around the elite strangers.

With her eyes closed, Oz let the soft symphony playing throughout the hall sink into her thoughts. The chatter among the President's guests was growing louder, but Oz held on to the soft sound. Whenever she lost the energy to act according to someone else's standards, music seemed to replenish that strength. Though her eyes were still shut, there was less strain in her expression and her posture seemed to straighten itself in a more lax position.

"Would you like some water, Miss?"

Oz opened her eyes to the source of the voice. A rather tall waiter held out his pitcher of ice water. He seemed concerned, unsure of how Oz would react.

"Thank you, Oscar." Another voice had appeared to the left of Oz, where Chaz once sat. But this wasn't the deep, Californian voice that barely harnessed her attention just moments ago. "Would you pour me one as well?" This voice was polite and breezy, his words were distinct but casual.

"You?" Oz cocked a brow at the familiar boy who sat in Chandler's seat.

"You!" The boy mimicked her reaction.

Oz collected herself as Oscar left their table. "Do you need something?" she said suggestively, repeating the tone he'd used earlier that day when he was sputtering for words. Now he appeared somewhat articulate. Oz thought it was the expensive suit that gave him the confidence, but his black eyes winced at the remark.

He was reliving the embarrassment on the hot sidewalk of Wisconsin Ave.

"Nice shoes." he countered.

A frown escaped Oz's composure. She had forgotten to keep the skirt of her dress over her feet. She saw below that her legs were casually crossed to display her worn out sneakers stained with dried blood.

 _Oh well_ , Oz thought, refusing to cover them up now that most of the guests had probably caught sight of them. She held a relaxed posture to match the boy's. He was grinning slightly, as though he'd won their second exchange.

"Yeah, some dickhead ran over me with his bike." Oz digressed as she sipped on her glass of ice water.

"The blood adds a bit of character," the boy considered. "I'd say it's an improvement."

"You look like the type to take special interest in feet."

To Oz's surprise, the boy _snorted_.

It was an unexpected reaction, but far better banter than what Chester had to offer. Oz found herself smiling. She was still bitter over her broken glasses, though she appreciated the boy's willingness to address his clumsiness.

"Is it easy for you to detect someone's sexual intrigue?" he taunted.

This time it was Oz's turn to react. "You really know how to make things weird."

"How is _that_ the weird thing you take away from this conversation?"

"You don't even know my name and you're already getting personal." Oz crossed her hands over her chest and sat back in her seat.

The boy ran a hand over his auburn hair and mirrored her stance. "I've been surrounded by nosy politicians for close to a two months now." he said. "I guess it's a habit I developed unwillingly, anyways, I _do_ know that there's a fifty percent chance that your last name is Kilic."

"Ah," Oz nodded her head, "Good guess, but Ambassador Kilic is my mom's brother."

"Close enough." he shrugged. "What's you're real name?" he asked.

It wasn't quite an intrusive question, but Oz didn't have a full grasp on who this kid was.

"If Kilic is close enough then why does my name matter?" she quipped.

The boy didn't even consider her words for a second before replying, "I could always google it."

"You still wouldn't know how to pronounce it." Oz scoffed.

"Try me."

Oz surveyed the boys expression. He was being genuine, but there was something _off_ about him. He was determined to know who she was and she didn't want him learning about her parents' fate so soon. Oz considered the circumstance:

They were in public. She felt safe knowing her uncle and Kaya were in the room. The boy was somehow related to the President. He didn't appear stupid enough to try something rash. So Oz brushed a few curls behind her ear and finally relaxed in her seat. He seemed- different from the golden boy who sat there before him. She figured it was best to test out this contestant's patience with her words instead of listening to another boy prattle on for the rest of the night.

* * *

"Ozcicek Ilyas." she said.

It was the most enchanting sound that slipped past her deep red lips. Her perfect American accent slipped into a foreign one that Peter wouldn't be able to replicate.

He wanted to hear her say it again, "Pardon?"

"Oz-shi-chek Ill-yaass." she repeated, but in a more western accent that sounded rather obnoxious.

He noticed that his bitter reaction lightened her mood. She laughed and her shoulders began to relax.

 _She's not a murderer,_ he thought, _murderer's don't laugh laugh like that._

"Call me Oz." she said, in all seriousness.

"I'm Peter Parker." He reached a hand out for Oz to shake. Her grip was more firm than he'd anticipated. For some reason, he thought her hand would slip right through his, just as a shadow would.

"Peter," Oz said. "Why does an international weapons dealer have any reason to speak with a teenage boy?"

Peter hesitated. He wish he hadn't, but he didn't expect her to be watching him either. It was eerie how quickly she changed her attitude from playful to subtle interrogation mode. There was definitely something off about her- other than the fact that she could slip into shadows.

As calmly as he could, Peter let go of her hand and said, "I've always been a fan of Mr. Stark. And, well, I _am_ the President's nephew." He boasted that last part just to pass the douchebag line in order to really sell it. The girl didn't appear convinced but she did seem enlightened by this bit of information.

"But you're not his son," she reminded him. "You're just the nephew who recently moved to D.C. He seem's like a busy guy. How could you have met Mr. Stark before tonight? I'd say that image is a bit more fishy than a girl who's wearing sneakers to a state dinner."

As she spoke, Peter saw the gears shifting in her mind. Her eyes were racing to catch him waver, or look away to confirm her suspicions. She was very observant and confident in her theories, more than she let on with her shy and timid exterior. It was her wide eyes that amplified her innocence. Peter noticed that the placement of her eyebrows made her seem more concerned and soft spoken than she actually was. It was what caught him off guard earlier that afternoon when he'd accidentally knocked her to the ground. She looked distressed, but her voice was lower and more assured than he'd imagine it would be.

Before Oz could make any solid assumptions, Peter decided to avert her attention from Mr. Stark.

"Do all Turkish girls have vivid imaginations like you?"

In that second, her expression fell. Oz leered at Peter and he'd never felt so disgusted with himself, but he forced himself to appear confident in this false ignorance.

"Jerk," she muttered, turning her attention away from him. She crossed her arms over her chest again.

"I'm not usually a jerk, but I guess you bring out the worst in people."

"That's what my dad used to say before he was murdered." Oz said with a haunting drop in tone, her face emotionless.

Peter froze, his facade diminished into pure embarrassment. "Oh, man I'm so sorry," he sputtered for the right words. Then he saw that she was smiling as she caught his bluff. "Not cool." he deflated.

She was even more clever than he speculated.

"What?" she shrugged, "He _is_ dead, why not make use of that card?"

He winced, confused yet intrigued by her behavior. "Whatever gets you off, I guess."

" _That_ was gross." she pointed a finger at him.

"So it's only okay if you get to be a vulgar?"

"Hey, you lost the right to complain when you flashed your cultural ignorance."

Peter felt his ears grow hot. He wasn't used to playing a different person without a mask on. It was hard enough to remain calm among regular teenage girls, and now he sat before an orphaned-potential murderer-mutant-girl who had every reason to speculate his own background.

"Relax, man. I was only messing around, no need to get sensitive."

Oz's low voice brought Peter back to the present. He didn't notice he'd been silent for a second too long. The girl appeared genuinely concerned now. She sat with her body facing him, her hazel eyes focused on him.

She wasn't taunting him, just _reassuring_ him.

 _Murderer's don't care about other people's feelings_ , Peter thought.

It took him a moment to readjust his thoughts. "Sorry," he shook his head.

"You do that a lot."

"At least I've got manners." he then began to finger-gun in her direction, then proceeded to regret the gesture.

Yet, a hint of a smile crept up on her lips. "Good point."

He wondered if she forgot about his connection with Mr. Stark. But in the few minutes he'd been speaking with her, Peter decided that she wasn't going to let that go. He decided to pivot the conversation, just like any other politician.

"What's it like living here?" Oz asked before Peter could say anything. "I bet you've got loads of security." she looked around the live room, eyeing each man in black as though collecting them in some archive. "I'm amazed you manage to escape Secret Service with just a bike."

She was definitely more clever than she led on.

"Speaking of Secret Service," Peter began, finding a tipping point. "I didn't see you arrive with your family. How did you manage to slip into the Yellow Room past security?"

As pathetic as it seemed, Peter was quite happy with his counter question. Oz didn't quip a reply as quickly as she once did, but her eye contact was calm and her body language controlled. He was getting _somewhere_ , but he wondered if she had any doubts on him. She was already suspicious about him and Mr. Stark. Did she find any connections between him and the metro mishap?

"What school do you go to?" Oz asked. Her eyes weren't on him.

Peter was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"It's a simple question, Peter."

"Sidwell Friends School."

Oz focused on Peter now. "My cousin is a few seconds away from this table. If you're still here when she gets here you won't be able leave for at least another hour. I suggest we continue our conversation tomorrow at school."

Peter gaped at Oz's lax expression. He was skeptical, but trusted her enough to stand up.

"Don't look back, she'll just reel you in." She said through a smile.

"Well I guess I'll be seeing you in school then." As abrupt as it was, Peter waved goodbye and Oz nodded back.

It was strange.

As he walked away, Peter almost felt like _he_ was being played instead of the other way around. When he reached his seat and sat down, he saw that Oz wasn't lying. A few tables away, Oz's cousin in red was talking up a storm, but Oz didn't appear annoyed, she seemed to enjoy her cousin's company. _Good company._ Peter took note of how different her behavior was toward him compared to when she was with Chase Tupelo.

 _Murderer's aren't good company_ , Peter assured himself. But it could be that the girl was a _psychopath_ instead of a sociopath, and that was far more trouble than Mr. Stark had predicted. Psychopath's easily mask their insanity and thirst for chaos with their charming, yet manipulative, personalities.

Peter felt himself shrink in his seat as he considered the possibilities of what this girl really wanted.

Maybe he simply didn't want Oz to be the bad guy. Maybe he wanted Mr. Stark's speculations to be misunderstandings. Maybe he just wanted a churro instead of this fancy White House meal. He missed New York, he missed the endless skyscrapers, the pizza, his friends. He was happy to be in D.C. for Mr. Stark and for his uncle, but he felt lost by the lack of purpose. Now he had one, and he was conflicted on whether or not he wanted to play detective.

This girl . . . Ozcicek, as she smiled across the room from Peter, he began to feel guilty for what may come for her. She was, afterall, his new assignment.


	6. New Girl

High schools in Turkey were quite similar to high schools in America.

Oz attended an international school in Istanbul. Everyone spoke English and almost every kid had parents who were outrageously rich franchise owners or worked for the U.S. government. In Sidwell Friends High School, it felt almost the same.

There were designer clothes on most of the students Oz had walked by. No one seemed to bat an eye as she trailed nervously through the sunlit halls. Windows were a plenty in this enormous building. Teachers were always smiling and relatable, except for the select few who were convinced they were teaching college kids.

Kids walked in groups, there were loners, there were pretty athletic girls, handsome athletic guys, kids who couldn't stop talking, kids who sat in corners with their books and music, model girls, gamer boys, theatre kids, dance kids, foreign kids, important kids, diplomat kids, rich kids.

Her heart rate increased around the endless teenagers. Oz began to mentally convince herself that they were just children. These people were just figuring out their lives as much as she was, no matter how confident they appeared.

Oz took in a deep breath, longboard in her arms, and neutral face on lock. Music healed the soul. She placed on her headphones over her curls. Song of the day: _Teenage Witch_ by Suzi Wu. It was October, why not get in the spirit?

She was just another student. A student who almost died the night before; perhaps worse. Oz was a student who could do so much more than the average person. As she walked along the busy halls attempting to find her locker, Oz wondered if anyone else was like her.

A moment later, she realized that maybe observing the other students a bit too attentively was not a good way to make friends.

Instead, Oz let the melancholic vibes of her music influence her confidence. How odd was it that she could face a life threatening situation with more rationality than a school filled with kids.

* * *

The first few classes were endless amounts of introductions and catching up. It was only the second month of school, so Oz didn't miss much. Still, she endured copious amounts of kindness from enthusiastic spirit queens and overconfident boys. Oz was polite enough to respond, but subconsciously, she knew they'd soon find out about her past through a quick google search, then the real questions and whispers would begin.

Lunch was when the irrational anxiety began to kick in again. Though her exterior was cool and collected, she held on to her lunch box with a tight grip. There was no trace of fear on her expression, it seemed to rest in her clutch.

The cafeteria was filled with endless conversations and laughs. The clinking of lunch trays and silverware were slowly making light the more Oz took in the atmosphere. The sunlight of the early afternoon was striking and warm. She almost wished it would rain so that the energy would dissipate into a low hum, maybe then no one would be curious enough to stare at her as she walked to a lone table.

As soon as Oz sat down, she affixed her posture to appear lax. It was easy enough to fake confidence among politicians and adults, but other kids? Other kids could smell anxiety and fear. It was easy to pin-point a fake because everyone had been faking since freshman year. But Oz was once the daughter of a Cabinet member for the Turkish Prime Minister. The high status of her father resulted in endless nights of false confidence. Oz just had to emulate that in high school, which sounded simple, but truly it only increased her anxiousness.

Sitting there alone in her own thoughts, the image of her father appeared among her stress. Omar Ilyas, a kind and loving man who only wanted to serve his country. A father who loved nothing more than his family. Oz saw his honey curls that she sported to her shoulders, but his smile was what she missed most. She was almost angry that she had the same wide, toothy grin.

Oz froze in the midst of opening her lunch box. Suddenly, she didn't have the strength to eat. She closed her lunchbox and in the next second, a figure pulled out the empty seat before her and sat down.

It was the infamous nephew of the President. Peter Parker. A cheeky grin plagued his face as he sat down. Oz held his gaze and wondered how a pair of black eyes could appear so bright.

When she got home the night before, she couldn't help but type his name into the ever growing internet. In her defense, Oz was confident he had done the exact same thing regarding her.

 _Peter Parker:_

 _17 years old. Straight A Science Student. Native to New York. At age 6 both parents (Richard and Mary Parker) died due to an airplane crash. Raised by uncle (Benjamin Parker) and aunt (May Parker). At age 14 his uncle was murdered on the street by a burglar. Continued to live with his aunt. At age 15 received a Stark Internship. At age 17 moved to the White House in Washington D.C. at his distant uncle's (POTUS) request, as well as to continue his internship with Stark Industries. Instagram posts consist of photography shots of strangers, busy streets, skylines, and a few close friends._

Oddly enough, Oz concluded that he was harmless once she discovered he shared a few tragedies with her. Still, there were a few holes in his character that she wouldn't quite let go of. His affiliation with Mr. Stark was much more than he led on.

Nevertheless, Oz regarded the boy with a rectangular black box in his hands. For some reason, seeing a familiar face did bring her at ease.

"Ozcicek," Peter greeted her with a warm smile. "How's your first day going?" he asked, as though they'd been friends for ages.

With a relieving sigh, Oz decided to play along.

"So far, I've corrected ten people on how to pronounce my name, that's not including teachers. I was placed in a freshman math class, but I'm debating on whether or not I should report this because it's an easy A. Oh, and two of those freshmen gave me their numbers."

"Well, don't boast in all that attention."

"I think it's already getting to my head." Oz jested. She held out both hands to mimic a scale. "Richard Green: Captain of the Freshman Basketball team, or Xavier Jones: Leader and Founder of Sidwell's Avengers Fan Club. How could I choose between such intriguing candidates?"

"I'd say Xavier's your best bet." Peter suggested. "At least you'll always have something to talk about. The conversation will never get boring."

"I'd rather not have superheroes on the radar of conversation."

"Oh, come on," he urged, "Discussing the achievements of our city heroes! That's more exciting than most topics."

"For you, maybe. I assumed that much since you're buddy-buddy with Iron Man."

Peter leaned in with false secrecy. "Okay first, that's confidential- and speaking of superheroes, did you hear about Spiderman last night near some metro station?"

Oz shrugged. "I heard he was in D.C. again. I didn't realize you and Xavier had so much in common."

She thought it was a twitch in her eyesight, but for a fleeting second the boy seemed to eye her differently as she pivoted the conversation. He shifted as though he was mindful of what to say next. Then again, he was a genius from what she read online. Maybe he could detect when someone was withholding more than they knew.

"Don't you think it's exciting?" He started. "We live among people who can, I don't know- fly? Control minds? Go invisible?"

Oz looked up, trying to appear thoughtful, when really she didn't feel like continuing this conversation. She focused on Peter again. He was insistent on speaking about superheroes. Not only that, but he mentioned a skill that Oz harnessed.

 _Of course_ , she thought, _just another fanboy._

"What's in the box, Peter?" she exhaled.

Peter looked down to his hands. Instantly, he let go of his infatuation with the celebrities of this world who happened to have superhuman abilities. Oz found herself breathing a bit easier when he handed her the box.

"It's a treaty." he said.

Oz narrowed her brows. "I didn't know we were fighting, considering I only just met you yesterday."

"Just open it." Peter insisted.

She gave in with a sigh and removed the rectangular top. Inside laid a pair of sunglasses. They were an exact replica of the ones Oz brought from Turkey. Round specs with a pure black tint. She held them up in the light.

"I had a feeling my endless apologies weren't enough to appease you." he said.

Oz placed the sunglasses over her hazel eyes. She saw the world in a shaded tint that was familiar and homely. Through the lenses she could spot a few other students peering in her direction. Then she remembered who she was speaking with. _The President's nephew_. It didn't make a difference to her, but that didn't mean it wouldn't call the attention of those around her.

After scanning the cafeteria, Oz took the sunglasses off and put them back in the box. "What's the catch?"

Peter shook his head of auburn hair. "No catch, just a truce."

"Well it wouldn't be an official truce unless I gave you something, right?" Oz questioned.

At this, Peter laughed as though what Oz said was odd but amusing. It definitely wasn't the laugh of a politician. _Perhaps she misjudged him?_

"I don't recall _you_ running _me_ over." he reminded her.

Though it was silly, Oz reached into her lunchbox and pulled out a sandwich before handing it to Peter. "There, now we're even."

Peter regarded the crust-cut, crunchy peanut-butter, and banana sandwich with confusion and then back to Oz.

"I wasn't exactly the nicest person to run into. Just eat it. It's really good." Oz insisted.

Watching Peter take a bite of her sandwich was definitely a sight. The boy did his best to appear pleased with the contraption, it was the most amusing image. Oz tried just as hard to conceal her growing smile.

"Mmm," he hummed between pained chews, "So good."

After another round of chewing, Oz gave in. "You don't have to finish it."

"Oh thank God," his shoulders sagged in relief once he swallowed. "No offense!"

"Jack ass."

Maybe a new life in D.C. wouldn't be too bad as long as she was more careful. Oz needed normalcy. Although Peter was basically a celebrity, he didn't act like one nor did he take advantage of the attention he garnered. Oz pondered over her decision to befriend him, it was brief, but she could see herself enjoying his company.

As Oz's thoughts wandered, Peter dropped the sandwich and pulled out his phone.

"Why'd you lie?" he asked casually, but not accusatorially.

"Excuse me?"

"We're friends now, and I demand to know why you lied." He was typing something on his screen before turning it over for Oz to see.

She was ready to defend herself, but then she saw what was playing on his phone. It was a video. A blurry one, taken from the inside of a moving metro train. The video focused on a red and blue figure hanging from the metro ceiling by a web. Voices from inside the metro began to erupt in confusion, then recognition, and finally, awe. Though the resolution wasn't clear, Oz could still recognize her own image through the metro window as the train stopped. She stood in the clothes she wore the night before with her longboard in her hands. Anyone would be able to point her out.

Oz watched and she felt her cheeks grow furiously red. As tan as her skin was, the blush of embarrassment never failed to mask her face. She sat in silence, watching the shaky video as the Metro doors slid open and the masked man in a skintight suit swung away from the scene.

"Spiderman!" A kid yelled out among the excited chatter as the filmer walked out of the train.

The last few frames were of Oz's face. It was a blurry shot of a girl with anxious hazel eyes, tan skin, and curly light hair. She was heading inside the metro, through the rush of people when the video ended.

Oz looked up from the phone screen. Around Peter's figure, she saw the eyes of students on her and understood why they were looking more attentively now.

The attention from her parents' death was what she feared before starting a new life. Oz didn't predict that _this_ would cause others to talk about her.

"It was uploaded last night on YouTube and blew up a few hours after that." Peter remarked, putting his phone away.

"Uh-huh." Was all Oz could muster up as she stared blankly at the boy.

"Oz,"

"Yeah?" Oz asked, dazed in all her thoughts. She shot her attention back at Peter. He was peering at her, a bit concerned.

"Are you all right?" he asked, waiting patiently for Oz to respond.

Her thoughts rambled on without warning.

 _What if Uncle Evren finds out? Will he make me move out of Kaia's apartment? Will he enforce more protection? Will he send me somewhere else? Not back to Turkey, never there, maybe across country? What if-_

"Oz, hey! You okay?"

Once more, Oz found her focus on Peter. She escaped from her thoughts and felt the vibration of her phone in her pocket.

"I didn't lie." Oz said steadily. "And your infatuation with this guy is really unhealthy." She reached for her phone and stood up. It was Kaia's image on her screen.

Oz took hold of her lunchbox and her truce gift. Peter stood up once she did, but Oz held up her phone indicating that she had to go.

"Thanks for the new glasses."

She didn't give Peter enough time to respond before turning away. Oz answered the call and held her phone up to her ear as she walked away. The girl had a feeling she already knew what Kaia's topic of discussion was.

* * *

 _Well if this doesn't make me look desperate then I don't know what will._

Peter made his way across the cafeteria once Oz passed the doorway. He pulled out his phone just to make it seem as though he was taking a phone call, but there would still be rumors regardless of his efforts to appear natural.

As quietly as he could, Peter walked through the doors and scanned the perimeter. The rush of noise was canceled out once the doors were closed. Before him were empty halls and distant chatter from classrooms, but no sign of Oz.

The boy exaggerated a sigh, to no one in particular, before treading quietly around a corner. Mr. Stark would want him to find out more about Oz. The sooner her true intentions were exposed, the sooner he could help Mr. Stark with a bigger mission.

 _You got this, Parker, patience is key._

With the absence of Karen, Peter naturally formed his own narrative during his sleuths. Acknowledging his tendencies weren't as easy to him as it was to just go with the flow.

His footsteps were soundless and swift. Every noise and crevice was as clear to Peter as ice. Though he preferred the active part of his missions, he'd forgotten how important _listening_ was during times like this. Peter stepped forward, paying closer attention to his right. There was a different type of noise coming from the faculty bathroom. It was the subtle waves of cellular reception.

It was definitely Oz. He stepped closer to the door. From the other side, he could hear her low voice. He detected the clarity of her tone in ways a regular human couldn't. His abilities were growing stronger the more he used them. As he stepped closer to the door of the bathroom, Peter listened in on Oz's phone call.

"I know, Kaia . . . I know." she repeated often with guilt plaguing her voice. "I know, I could've called the driver, but I told you Holly wouldn't let me leave work early . . . I know, Kaia, I'm sorry."

For a moment she was silent.

Peter placed his ear closer to the wooden door. Oz fell back on the other side at the same exact moment. The vibration of her weight against the door rammed Peter's eardrums. His eyes widened as he leaned away from the door and held in an anguished cry. Nevertheless he kept his attention on the conversation.

"But, nothing happened. I told you I can manage . . . I know Spiderman won't be there next time, but this won't happen again, I promise. Kaia, _please_. No one else will know it was me, I wasn't there when the police- . . . Yes, I promise." Oz's voice picked up, she was more willing to cooperate than to defend herself. "Yes, I'll take the bus instead . . . I know, Kaia . . . this won't be like Turkey, I promise . . . I know that mom would want me to be safe, it won't happen anymore, I promise."

 _Anymore_.

Peter caught on to her word choice. This happened more than once. Why did she feel the need to apologize for something she couldn't control? This was even more strange than the murder of her parents, unless the two events were related?

From the other side of the door, there was movement. Before Oz could turn the doorknob, Peter ran for it. His heart jolted and he practically sprinted across the hallway until he reached the boy's locker room.

Peter never knew how relieving the smell of axe body spray could be until he was behind the door of the locker room. Luckily, no one was inside to witness his heartache. As he regained his composure, his phone began to ring.

It was Mr. Stark.

"Hey, Mr.-"

"Any news on the girl?" Mr. Stark asked in his usual rapid manner.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking." Peter responded, leaning against the door. "Her name is Oz, she works for some lady named Holly, and I'm ninety-nine point nine percent sure she's not the murder."

"I need precision, kid."

"I don't know?" Peter slumped down to the floor in exasperation. "She likes peanut-butter and banana sandwiches, which is pretty weird, but other than that she acts and talks like a normal girl."

"Except she's not a normal girl. She's a mutant."

"That doesn't mean she's not a person."

"And that doesn't mean she can't have a motive. She comes from a political family," Mr. Stark reminded him. "How do you know she wasn't used to obtain information or perform acts of terror for power?"

"Your imagination, it works in the most messed up way. Did you know that?" Peter mentioned. "I did overhear her speaking with her cousin. She was talking about how she won't get into trouble anymore." He recalled the desperation in her plea. "It's like she really wants to be here in D.C., but I don't think it has anything to do with some hidden agenda."

As Peter thought back to his conversation with Oz, he recalled that she was distraught after he showed her the metro video. Of course, that didn't mean she was worried about her identity being compromised. She made an appearance at the State Dinner, one of the most high profile dinners in the country . . . but she didn't walk in with her family, so there weren't any public photos taken of her. He couldn't find anything about her on social media either. No Facebook, no Instagram, not even a Goodreads account, or an aesthetics Tumblr page. The only sign of Ozcicek Ilyas was a Wikipedia link, and the main focus of that page was her murdered father.

"This doesn't make any sense." Peter said aloud.

"Then find more information." Mr. Stark responded.

"I still say you should get Miss. Pope to help you." Peter suggested, "I'm no Intelligence Officer."

"Miss. Pope can't follow the girl around in school without looking suspicious."

"And a boy following her around isn't suspicious enough?" he argued.

On the other end, Peter could hear some sort of static blast. It was too loud and clear to be coming from the television.

"I'll call you back."

"Wait, Mr. Stark! Are you on a mission!? I can come help! I-"

"Eyes on the girl, kid!" Mr. Stark ordered, but he sounded preoccupied.

In the next second the line was cut off and Peter nearly slammed his phone on the floor of the locker room.

 _This is like freshman year all over again_.

It wasn't that Peter didn't have any interest in Oz. Her mannerisms were intriguing and contradicting. One moment she'd deliver clever remarks and in the next she'd try desperately to appear small, even invisible. Her background was even more complex. Could a girl like her commit murder? Peter had already met twisted people with convincing facades, could she be one of them? He was definitely curious about the new girl. In truth, he wished that she wasn't on the opposite end of the spectrum. With this mission, he was to required to help Mr. Stark villainize Oz.

Peter's frustrations derived from the lack of excitement. He wanted more than to run errands . . . and perhaps he just wanted to be Oz's friend instead of violating her privacy.


	7. Down in the Alley

Work.

Oz once had a job in Istanbul. It was a small ice cream shop targeted toward tourists near the Hagia Sophia. Her father tried to persuade her to quit in order to focus on her studies, but Oz insisted that she experience hard work . . . if you called treating tourists with ice cream ' _hard work'_.

In all honesty, Oz chose the job because its location looked out to the grand museum and the Sea of Marmara. When it wasn't raining, Oz would slip down the street on her longboard, weaving through tourists. Once she'd reach the docks, the girl would snack on her sandwich and absorb the breathtaking view.

It was the last place she saw before leaving for D.C.

Holly wasn't the best of bosses, but she _was_ Oz's boss. Creating all fifteen smoothie contraptions were simple after the first few days at Robeks. Then, Holly began to nitpick on whether Oz was using too much produce and not enough ice. The bathrooms constantly needed cleaning and apparently she wasn't nice enough to the customers.

"I don't know how it is in Turkmenistan, but in America we've got rules." Holly once said to Oz after accidentally giving the wrong change back to a more than kind customer.

Oz held in a breath, remembering that she needed this job and would soon find a new one. A few more weeks was all she needed. She didn't bother correcting Holly, nor did she bother to apologize for every small thing she did wrong. As long as she got the job done and clocked out at 7 p.m. then life was good.

By the end of the week, Oz was firmly acquainted with Holly's micro-aggressions and arrogant mumbling. It wasn't any different from what she'd overheard from tourists in Istanbul who believed that English was nonexistent in foreign countries. But Oz ignored, and proceeded to let her annoyance go in order to get through the day without a migraine. Yet, she couldn't help but miss those warm days of eating lunch near the sea as the wind swept her hair away.

As the sun began to set on that brisk October day, Oz shut off all the lights in the Robeks off Wisconsin Ave. She ran a towel along the counters one last time before grabbing her backpack and longboard. The only wind that rustled her curls came from the air conditioning.

"Better be careful out there," Holly muttered without looking at Oz, she was too preoccupied with her tablet. The faint noise of Candy Crush emitted from the device. "I hear there's some gang snatching girls at the metro stations. Better to take the bus if you're going home in _those_ shorts."

Oz froze at the door, slightly distraught from Holly's half-way decent advice. She paid no attention to the debatable slut-shaming and slipped through the glass door of the colorful smoothie shop.

"See you on Monday, Miss. Holly."

* * *

Keeping a low profile was at the top of Oz's list.

The girl often took notes in order to keep a level-head. Her mother was always taking notes. Organization was key to living a peaceful life. List-taking was one of the many lessons Oz implemented into her every-day life.

The day after Kaia confronted her about the metro incident, Oz was fervent to keep a low profile. The video from that night was on the news a few times, but after a few days it was old news. At first, Oz's was restless. _Would her uncle find out? Would someone at his work point out that the pixilated image of the girl in the Spiderman video happened to look like his niece?_

Four days had passed and Oz's uncle never once called her.

On that Friday evening, Oz stepped off her first bus and headed to her last stop. She rode along the sidewalk and welcomed a long forgotten bliss. The sun was nearly set, and foot traffic was growing scarce, but Oz felt content. She'd made it through the week. Her shoulders were relaxed and she even smiled at the few people she passed by without the security of music or her new sunglasses.

The chances of escaping the exposure were slim, but Oz made it and the weekend was here. Alone with her thoughts, Oz took in the sounds of honking cars and chatter along the cafes. Suddenly, a hint of guilt began to sink in.

She hadn't been the most cordial at school in order to achieve a low-key status.

The stress of keeping a low profile meant she didn't exactly want to land on anyone's social media. A few nice girls in her gym class had asked Oz to drop by their party next Saturday night. Oz politely declined even when they tried their hardest to convince her otherwise. She hoped they didn't assume she was too uptight or uninterested in their friendship, but that was always the case with discretion.

Peter was another discussion.

He was the only person who didn't quit his endeavor to befriend her. Though Oz didn't exactly mind his company, she knew that she had to stay clear from the President's nephew. Peter offered to walk her to Robeks after school more than once and each time, Oz decline. How often were people taking his photos on the street? If she was in one of them then someone would most likely make the connection.

Other kids in school even began to ask Oz if it really was her in the metro video. She tried to dissuade the rumors by replying with an "I wish" or "I don't even know how to use the metro," but she sensed it wasn't enough.

Luckily, a new video surfaced the internet regarding Iron Man and one of his heroic victories. And just like that, the metro incident was old news.

It was only Peter who refused let it go. His obsession with superheroes only helped Oz avoid him even more than she already was. She could easily classify him as a deranged fanatic, but deep down she knew there was more to him, and he was a nice kid. Oz couldn't recall the last time she met someone who was so enthusiastic about anything. The thought drained her. She ached for it to all go away.

At the sound of a blaring bus horn, Oz brought her attention back to her surroundings.

She'd been in her thoughts for longer than she intended. Mentally, she cursed herself for missing the metro bus as it drove across the intersection. Oz hopped off her board scanned the area. The emptiness of North Carolina Ave was nearly unrecognizable. There wasn't anyone around at this hour, no one accept one man walking in the same direction Oz was headed. Oz recognized the man. He had a beard and wore old fashioned clothes that Oz took note of when she was on her first bus.

The sky was already a dark blue and the next bus stop was a few blocks away. Surely she wasn't in any danger right now. Not again . . . but she had to be sure.

As quickly as she could, Oz raced along the walkway upon her board, ignoring the nuisance that were honking cars. Somehow, they were louder than the ones in Istanbul. Oz whirled away without showcasing an apologetic expression to the drivers, but she did look back. As quickly as she crossed the street, the ominous man followed suit.

It appeared that whenever Oz felt the world slipped into balance, it would almost immediately fall back into chaos.

Oz had to catch the next bus or she'd be forced to ride the Metro and that wasn't an option for tonight, not when she had someone on her tail. He followed her off the last bus _,_ that meant no form of public transportation would be safe for Oz or any other girl. But when has the public ever been a safe place for any woman or girl?

This was the second time in one week, maybe it wasn't just any girl these people were looking for.

As Oz dissected their reasoning and interest in her, she began to feel a numbing sense of dread creep up her subconscious. She managed to suppress it since her mother's death and convinced herself there wouldn't be any problems in the States.

 _Could these men be from back home?_

The sidewalks were almost vacant at this hour, but that didn't mean the buses would wait longer than scheduled. Oz kicked the pavement behind her once, twice, and then planted both feet upon the deck. She leaned forward with her knees bent to increase her pace. If Oz were to stumble or waver in her stance, the impact of her fall would do more than just scrape her legs. Not only that, but the man would catch her.

Pushing away the thought of falling and being abducted, Oz carved back and forth upon her longboard to avoid the occasional cracks or pothole. Even at the speed she was going, Oz spotted the large red bus at the light near the end of the block. It would turn right before she could reach the intersection.

Oz carved a harsh right, slowing down her board. There was an alley up ahead she could cut through in order to lose her tail and reach the bus in time. She could feel her heart beat against her chest with each second of debate. Oz hadn't looked back since she crossed the street. She could almost vomit at the thought of the bearded man catching up, but instead, Oz made the sharp turn.

Before going off track and slipping into the alleyway, it did not occur to Oz that she was doing anything reckless. In fact, the thought of taking a short cut was more of a survival instinct. Oz's intentions were to escape and reach the big red bus, not to run exactly into the type of danger she was trying to avoid.

As soon as Oz made the turn, her heart racing with anticipation, she slammed into a hard object. Or rather, a person. The impact of the crash wasn't as hard as it could've been, being that Oz had to slow down in order to make the turn. Her longboard slid away from underneath her feet as a man seized her sides. She felt frozen in time.

His low grunt of victory overpowered Oz's own cry of despair and surprise.

"We've got her, Mark!" the man said with difficulty. Oz tried to wring herself free from his clutch, but he was too strong.

She could've blinded him, but her arms were restrained to her side. She could've screamed but he clenched his hand over her mouth and jaw the moment he caught her. She could've slipped into a shadow, but the simplicity of it was that she was just too shaken with fright. Her breathing was too quick, her thoughts were in disarray, her rationality gone.

 _Fear._

Fear took hold of Oz as the man ushered her body across the pitch black alley with a gloved hand suppressing her screams. Fear rendered her motionless as he clenched her wrists tightly behind her and pushed her forward. Fear shut down every rational action Oz could make once the man's partner appeared from the other end of the alleyway. It was the bearded man.

He was breathing heavily, too delighted to notice that Oz was in any pain. It wasn't his job to care. She had come across this time and time again, but this time Oz was truly trapped.

A voice inside her cried in desperation; _but there has to be something! Someone!?_

Oz was frantic as she fought in the man's hold. She looked all over, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. The men were speaking but she couldn't hear them, she couldn't make sense of the world. They laughed as she cried, as her heart worked in overdrive to keep her breathing, to keep her sane.

The bearded man crept forward. He held out a gloved hand to wipe away Oz's tears.

This action, this condescension, it _riled_ Oz's fear. She jerked her head away from him even as the man restraining her tightened his grip around her wrists and jaw. Oz was still afraid, but now she was infuriated. This man, _these men_ who caught her, they might have captured hundreds of other girls. Girls who were afraid, girls who were too young to know of this evil, girls who had lost all hope. These monsters _reveled_ in the fear of innocent girls.

Oz would not accept defeat. _Not now._ Not when she had a chance. She wished it wasn't this way, but she could do something those poor girls couldn't. Oz was never going to let men like this bring harm to another girl again.

It took every bit of her remaining strength to take in a deep breath. Oz closed her eyes, urging herself to forget that she was in any danger. It was the hardest tactic to achieve, but for a fraction of a moment, Oz was still.

She opened her eyes to gaze upon the night sky above the alleyway. The bearded man walked closer to her, obstructing her view, but Oz caught on to the stroke of red and blue in the moon's light before the man holding her pushed her forward.

Three feet. Oz was exactly three feet away from the streetlight at the edge of the right building. She prepared herself as the men pushed her forward.

Two feet. Along the way, Oz was more aware of the movement from above. There were inconsistencies in the darkness around her, but the men restraining her were too busy speaking to notice.

One foot. Oz relaxed her shoulders and thought of her parents. They would want her to fight.

And so she did.

* * *

Up on the roof of a tailor's shop stood a cunning boy in red and blue.

Down in the alleyway was a lost girl waiting for shadows to breakthrough.

* * *

Peter crouched on the ledge of the building above, waiting for the right moment to take action. He was careful to follow Oz when she finished her shift at Robeks. It was the same thing for the entire week. Oz went to work after school, then she took the bus home at 7 p.m. One day she stopped for pizza, and on another she stopped at a bookstore, all the while Peter followed.

He was beginning to grow hesitant with Mr. Stark's instructions. It felt wrong to stalk Oz, but she _had_ been acting rather suspicious after he confronted her with the metro video. Oz kept denying it was her to all the students, but Peter was there that night.

 _Why did she feel the need to lie? Why did she feel the need to appear unremarkable, when everything about her life was noteworthy?_

Lying was one thing, but consistently avoiding any attention was almost too skeptical to ignore. So, Peter followed Oz that Friday night and felt a spark of appreciation when he spotted a dark figure trailing close behind her. If he hadn't followed through with Mr. Stark's orders then he may not have seen Oz at school on Monday.

It was hard to watch the abduction unfold. Peter had already saved three other girls from the Lady Thieves this past month, but he never got used to their desperate pleas for release as he waited for the right moment to take action.

Watching Oz was another experience. Her screams were muffled behind one guy's hand. She tried to wrestle out of his grip at first, but then she just- stopped. It was like she gave up. When Peter saw her tears trickle down her red cheeks, he almost impulsively dove down into the alley. She was in shock, she wasn't going to act, so he had to do _something!_

 _Then she saw him._

Oz tilted her head up. Her grief-stricken hazel eyes focused on Peter. Well, not on Peter but on his mask. He could've sworn she smiled underneath the man's hand, but in that exact moment of relief, Oz did acknowledge him. _Spiderman._

The transition was faster than Peter had expected. Of course, Oz was playing with light. It might as well meant that she was working as fast as the speed of light. The second she was near a shadow, mist began to form around her and she slid through the her capture's grasp as though her figure melted into darkness.

 ** _"I think it's time you take action, Peter."_**

Karen's crisp voice emitted from his suit's mask. The Artificial Intelligence program was installed, specifically by Mr. Stark, to aid Peter during his duties. He promptly named her Karen; she was the mastermind behind all of Peter's actions, determining whether or not it was the right time to take them. Peter often had the right instincts, but Karen's approval always seemed to boost his confidence before a mission. He was very fond of his greater conscience.

"Got it, Karen."

The men below were horror-struck. Their eyes were no longer on the perimeter, but on the floor. Peter seized his opportunity and descended off the ledge. As he felt gravity take hold of his weight, Peter shot up a web with his right hand. The web caught on to the ledge of the building just before he aimed his fall at the man who first caught Oz. Peter's weight toppled over the bulky man, his head hit the concrete first. The elasticity of his web shot him back up into the air before his partner could react.

 ** _"Shall I activate Instant Kill Mode?"_** Karen suggested as Peter was suspended in the air.

" _Karen_ , we've talked about this!" Peter shouted as the bearded man below pulled out a gun.

Without another second to waste, Peter let go of his web and let himself fall once more. He shot out another web directly at the gun's barrel before landing deftly on the staircase of a fire escape. The man pulled the trigger, gun aimed at Peter, but there was no combustion.

"Nice try," Peter laughed as the man grew frustrated.

To his right, there was a sudden shift in movement.

 _It was Oz!_ She was a solid again! She stepped into the clearing, her right arm was outstretched before her and in her palm she held- _light?_ It looked as though the light from the streetlamp and the shadows on the floor were spiraling up to form a ball of chaos in Oz's hand.

Her focus was not on Peter, but on the conscious man. In the dim light of the streetlamp, he could see that there was something . . . estranged about her expression, like Oz wasn't truly the one controlling that ball of destruction.

The man took Peter's hesitation as an opportunity to pull out a smaller pistol from the inside of his coat. He aimed it at Oz.

Oz stepped into the shadows again, and the iris of her eyes were glowing. The ball of light shot from her palm at the speed of a bullet, directly into the eyes of the bearded man.

"Are you kidding me?" Peter expressed, ready to leap off the staircase but the man dropped his gun.

The scene was . . . inexplicable. Oz held her outstretched hand in a fist as the man cried out in pain. He fell onto his knees, his hands practically clawing at his eyes as he wailed in pain. Peter peered down from the fire escape to see that his eyes were glowing _white_. There wasn't even a hint of a pupil as he convulsed on the filth of the alley floor, it was almost too bright too directly look at.

"Karen," Peter quivered, dumbstruck. "What's happening?"

 _" **It appears as though she's harnessing the shadows and lights around her to blind him, Peter."**_ Karen informed him, as though reading it out of a textbook.

"Can you elaborate on that, please." Peter asked, growing more anxious as the man's cries grew louder.

 **" _Your mutant friend is using her abilities to damage the suspect's optic nerve. The longer she forces her light and shadow energy through his system, the more likely he is to experience hyper shock and trauma, which can eventually cause severe brain tumors, strokes, and permanent blindness_."**

"I see."

Peter absorbed the information as best he could, as terrifying as it was. He couldn't just let Oz blind a man to death, _could he?_ He saw that her fingers were still constricted and spindly, like a witch's claw. There was vengeance written all over her face. She wasn't going to let the man live. By the sound of the man's agony, it didn't seem like he had much longer.

With a heavy sense of regret, Peter stretched out his own arm. "Karen?"

 ** _"Yes, Peter?"_**

"Activate Shock Web."

Instead of aiming at the man, Peter quickly shot his next web at Oz. His precision prompted the abrupt end of Oz's manic torturing protocol. The web caught on to her wrist and the velocity of its emission sent her flying to the other end of the alley way. The web shocked her at first contact, stunning her power against the fallen man. After the initial jolt of electricity, she was harmlessly stuck against the brick wall by her right wrist.

 ** _"Good shot."_**

"Thanks, Karen."

Peter finally stepped off the fire escape. As if it were a reflex, he first shot regular webs at the fallen men, restraining their limbs to the ground. From where he stood, Peter held his vision on Oz's victim. He lied unconscious but his eyes were inky black and tears of black blood ran down his cheeks. It was a ghoulish image, but Peter convinced himself that the man deserved worse for his line of work.

Then he headed toward Oz.

She leaned against the brick wall with one arm suspended by the web Peter had shot at her. He noticed that she reacted from the lack of connection with her power as though waking up from a deep sleep. Oz's eyes were normal again, hazel yet glazed over with tears.

It took a moment for Oz to appear herself again. She shook her head a couple times to regain her balance. Her honey curls covered half her face, and in all honestly she looked as disoriented as Peter suspected. Luckily, there was no blood or fatal bullet wounds.

Before he spoke, Peter tried his best to sound older than he actually was. Oz was clever, she'd notice any sign of Peter Parker in his character. Right now, in that alleyway he channeled his inner Spiderman.

"Are you going to stay put this time?" Peter voiced.

Perhaps Spiderman's idea of an introduction was not the best, because the second he finished speaking, Oz was as focused as a hawk. Her glare was enough to initiate his regret.

"You- _electrocuted_ me?" Oz questioned, murder in her voice.

Peter held up both hands. "In my defense, you were just about to murder that guy."

" _That guy_ was about to murder me!" her voice quaked. At the same time, Oz was struggling to wring her wrist free.

It was almost amusing. Considering the circumstance, Peter decided not to laugh. He also reminded himself of Oz's cancer causing and blinding abilities. She definitely wasn't as harmless as he once thought her to be. _Was she a murderer?_ Potentially. _But did she murder her parents?_ That was still up for debate.

"Don't worry, the D.C. police will handle them now." Peter said. "Karen, would you call the cops and give them our location?"

 ** _"Now calling 9-1-1."_**

"Who are you talking to?" Oz questioned, slightly irritated, rightfully so.

Without answering, Peter turned away to the wall behind him. She was safe now, with little help from Peter's own abilities. He had more information on Oz and her powers, which meant he had to report back to Mr. Stark as soon as he could. He was ready to climb the walls when Oz began to protest wildly behind him.

"So what!?" Oz barked. "You're just going to leave me stranded!?"

"That was the plan, yes." Peter stepped back from the wall, "It's not like you're in any more danger."

"Don't you think that it's strange, though?" Oz argued, with a bit less hostility in her voice.

 _" **The D.C. police are on their way, Peter."**_

"Thanks, Karen," he said quietly before regarding Oz in a deeper voice that was as ridiculous as it sounded. "What were you saying?"

"This is the second time you had to save me in one week." Oz argued. "Don't you want to know why?"

 ** _"She has a point."_**

"Not now, Karen." Peter warned.

He caught Oz's doubting eyes as he continued to bicker with his suit's AI. Peter silently cursed himself, he had to be more mindful of his actions around her. It was obvious that she was stalling, and he had to leave before the cops showed up.

"I suggest you stop taking public transportation, ma'am." _Ew! Ma'am? What the hell, Parker,_ he thought to himself as he turned away. There was no need for Karen or Mr. Stark to make Peter feel like a moron.

He placed all fours on the wall, easily striding up a few feet vertically. The odd thing was, Oz didn't reply. And for the many argumentative interactions he shared with this girl, it was awfully uncharacteristic of her to let someone else have the last word.

Feeling defeated, Peter turned to apologize for leaving her so abruptly. Oddly enough, when he turned to face Oz, _she wasn't there._

"No way," Peter uttered in surprise before spinning around and landing in a crouched position on the ground. He surveyed the entire alleyway. The Holographic Interface of his lenses appeared automatically across his vision. Not only did electronic blue graphics display endless data on his surroundings and the people nearby, but they were motion and heat detectors as well.

Peter inched forward along the alley, careful not to let his guard down. He looked back up to the web he shot at Oz's wrist, it was still in place. The graphics displayed holographic scanners used to sweep the entire wall for activity. It took less than a second, even at in the darkness of that alleyway. The digital scanner followed Peter's gaze as he looked to the ground.

"Do you sense anything, Karen?" he asked in the silence of solitude.

 ** _"There is no physical sign of your mutant friend, Peter."_**

"What the hell?" Peter muttered, mostly to himself. He questioned whether or not Oz was in shadow form or if she was already long gone. He didn't know the full extent of her powers.

Curious, Peter stood up tall. He leaned forward, towards the wall Oz was stuck against just a moment ago. The world was quiet and obscure at night. Aside from the distant police sirens that only Peter could detect from where he stood, there was little noise. From a few feet back, it looked like nothing was on the brick wall. Karen didn't sense any heat or movement, but as Peter paced forward, he felt a hidden presence.

"Where did you go?" he said with intrigue.

Peter was inches from the wall now. He was hesitant to lean any further. If Oz was truly there, then he'd be face to face with her at this point. Peter stood still, ready to react if there was any action . . . but there was nothing.

 ** _"The authorities are a minute away from your location."_**

At this warning, Peter dropped his stance and released the tension in his limbs. "Let's go home, Karen."

As soon as Peter stepped back, he felt a heavy weight wrap around his shoulders. They felt like legs! _Oz!_ She had her legs clasped around Peter's neck. Suddenly her full body was visible. Surprised by the attack, Peter cried out in shock as Oz locked her thighs tighter around him.

 ** _"Your mutant friend-"_**

"I know! I know!" Peter shouted in a muffled voice, placing both hands around Oz's thighs.

He kept backing away, but Oz used her webbed wrist as leverage to pull him back. After a moment of struggling and choice words, Oz finally let go of her fight and let the momentum of Peter's weight pull her forward.

"Dammit!" Peter struggled to wring Oz's legs free. His breathing began to grow shallow at the strength of her grasp. "What are they feeding you kids back in Turkey?"

"What!?"

The force of Peter's fight broke off Oz's attachment to the wall! Her wrist was free, but Peter continued to propel backwards and he was taking Oz down with him. She slipped off of Peter's shoulders, but she wrapped her arms around Peter's head. Oz yelped in Peter's ear as gravity took hold of their bodies. He felt the impact of the fall almost instantly around his chest and back. Luckily, Oz's arms cushioned his skull against the concrete, but that didn't save his torso in any way that he wished it would.

Peter whimpered in defeat as Oz shifted her weight against his crushed body. The world was spinning for a moment as he tried to regain his strength. He felt Oz's hands slide from under his skull and up around his chest. She lifted herself up with a quiet groan, face scrunched up in pain. Her scraped legs straddled Peter's torso.

With his head in the clouds, Peter couldn't help but notice how very close she was to his face. It didn't occur to him that she could easily slip off his mask and identify him. He was lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts and those twinkling eyes of hers. Her motion was subtle. Oz traced a hand to Peter's throat, at the lining of his mask . . . but she hesitated.

 _Why did she stop?_

In the dark of the night, Peter lifted a limp hand. She stilled over his body as he brushed away the honey curls that covered her face. An automated list of holographic data appeared beside Oz's face. Her heart rate increased significantly at his touch.

Peter caught a glimpse of her hazel eyes in the moonlight before a flash of blue and red lights tinted them.

 _ **"The authorities are 100 feet away from your location."** _

"Okay, Karen." Peter grunted in a weak voice. He dropped his hand from Oz's face.

She caught sight of the police lights and immediately jumped off of Peter's body. He felt the release of pressure on his chest and his breathing grew normal within seconds. Oz stood a few feet away. Her eyes locked with Peter's as he began to stand up, she stood in a defensive stance.

"Just go." he urged her. It may have been his rattled brain, but Peter decided not to keep her at the crime scene.

 ** _"The authorities are 50 feet away from your location."_**

"Go!" Peter warned one last time as the police sirens obstructed their hearing.

Oz rushed to find her bag and longboard as Peter shot a web up to the highest flight of the building fire escape. He climbed up his web within seconds, ignoring the slight ache in his chest. When he reached the top of the building, Peter surveyed the scene down below.

There were men and women in blue heading into the entrance of the alleyway as Oz slipped through the other end upon her longboard.

She didn't look back.


	8. 8th Street

The Marine Barracks covered an entire block on the corner of 8th St. The classical red-brick structure was the first sign of relief for Oz. On the other side of the busy street, the worrisome girl weaved around the crowds of people headed toward the Barracks. From where she rode, she could hear the U.S. Marine Band performing their set. On any other night, Oz's curiosity would compel her to follow the flock of families toward the building.

However, on this particular night, the girl wasn't too keen on enjoying herself.

It took a few minutes for Oz to reach the backdoor of Kaya's apartment. Her hands shook, reaching for the keys in the pocket of her shorts. There were a few more moments of tension as Oz carefully crept up the staircase to the second floor of the building. She couldn't control her fearful breaths once she absorbed the absence of noise. Oz quietly dropped her longboard beside the couch in the living room. All of the lights were off in the kitchen, as well.

She stood still for a moment, surveying the darkness. Even within the safety of her own home, Oz couldn't seem to relax or breathe properly.

Cautiously, Oz headed up the stairs on the other end of the living room.

The dark void of the corridor sent chills up her spine as the creaking of the floorboard broke the silence. A figure crept through the door beside her own bedroom. In that moment of terror, Oz felt the ghost pressure of a hand lock over her jaw. But as the figure stepped closer, it flipped the light switch. The harsh fluorescent lights caused Oz to tense up with dread and fear that fought to surface through a scream.

* * *

From above, one could spot pools of people heading toward the Marine Barracks. 8th St was brightly lit and heavily guarded by the men in uniforms posted along the entire block. Down in the vast courtyard, Peter observed the U.S. Marine Band performing for the locals on the stands as well as for a few guest senators.

His attention wavered from Oz to the brass instruments brightening up the night. He'd helped Oz and she helped him, although not in the most organized fashion, the least he could do was make sure she got home safe.

 _ **"Peter?"**_

"Yeah?" he responded from the roof of Oz's apartment as he observed the marching band.

 _ **"I'm sensing an unidentifiable party on the third level of your mutant friend's apartment."**_

Immediately, Peter turned and leaped across the roof. He climbed down to the fire escape of her apartment. The third window on the far right was open. Peter had all fours on the brick wall beside it. He slid it open soundlessly, as he did so the music from the Barracks began to fade away. Peter's full attention was on the dark room once he climbed inside.

The room was small, but compact with books, unpacked boxes, and scattered with clothing. It must've been Oz's room. Peter decided to avoid the chaos on the floor and slid up the walls and to the ceiling. He was attentive, listening carefully for any voices.

 _ **"From initial scanning, your mutant friend seems to have a distaste for organization, but a liking for Science Fiction books and heavy shoes."**_

"How about we add a name in the database for my mutant friend." Peter whispered as he crawled effortlessly to the door. It was cracked open just a bit for him to see that someone was heading up the stairs.

" ** _What would you like me to call her?"_**

Suddenly the lights came on from the other side. Peter could see clearly now from where he was suspended. The blood was rushing to his head, but he had to be sure Oz wasn't in any danger. His muscles were tense, ready to move if need be.

He saw to his right an older woman. Even upside down, Peter noticed that she resembled Oz. Though she was taller and paler, the woman did appear familiar. He recognized her from the State Dinner. Her expression was rather flustered, but not as ghostly as Oz's.

Oz stood near the railing of the staircase, her eyes wide with horror. Peter could see that she was exhausted and paranoid. Why would she be otherwise after tonight's events?

"Kaya," Oz exhaled. She looked more relieved already.

"I don't want to know why you're late," Kaya said. "As long as it doesn't involve strange men then I'm fine."

From the Holographic Interface, Peter read that Oz's heart rate was resting just below a frightened pace. She was coming out of shock and her emotions were beginning to take over, but she was still fighting to appear relaxed.

"Holly held me back." Oz lied. Even her voice sounded shaken. Her older cousin didn't appear convinced either.

Kaya eyed Oz skeptically. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Then something clicked in the woman's expression, her eyes went wide with concern and her voice shifted from business mode to total endearment. "Is it the stress of a job? Is someone bothering you at school?" Kaya swept across the corridor to bury Oz in a tight embrace. "Is it your parents? Oh, honey. If this is all too much then you don't have to work with Holly." Kaya ran a hand through Oz's sweaty curls. "Look at you, you're stressing so much. I'll find you an internship in the State Department so you can be closer to me. Is that all right?"

The switch reminded Peter of his own aunt back home. Oz was hesitant at first, but she quickly relaxed her muscles in the arms of her cousin. She was genuinely relieved to be embraced.

"I'm fine, Kaya." Oz stressed, she pulled away slightly. "No one's bothering me. I'm more than okay."

She doesn't know.

Peter wondered who did know about Oz's powers. If her cousin didn't know then surely the Turkish Ambassador didn't either. And her parents? Maybe they were killed off because they found out? Jesus, Peter! He caught himself before even considering the thought.

Though Kaya held Oz close, she kept fashioning Oz's hair behind her ears and scanning her face for signs of distress. "If it's anything, even boy problems then you'd tell me, right?"

Oz snorted. "If it ever comes to that."

Peter didn't know exactly why, but Oz's reaction slightly offended him.

Kaya exhaled deeply and let go. "Okay," she said, "go take a shower, honey."

"I will."

* * *

The girl walked into her room once she was sure no one could hear her. She closed the door behind her, letting the darkness settle in around her figure.

The window next to her bed was open, it let in the cool breeze of the night. The steady sound of brass instruments and low flutes weaved inside with the wind.

Oz welcomed the chilling air and lulling symphony as she leaned back against her door. She dropped her bag and slid down the door with her eyes closed shut.

The music eased the girl's heart into surrender. She nestled her head upon her knees and wept quietly to herself.

* * *

The boy watched as grey clouds passed over the white moon in the dark of the night. He sat outside on the fire escape. Beyond the brick wall he leaned against, he listened to the girl's silent tears slip down her chin and onto the wooden floorboards of her room.

Peter waited silently outside Oz's bedroom window. He waited as her fervent breaths diminished into soft vocal hitches. He waited until she stood up from the floor and slid into her bed. He waited until her heart beat was as steady as the drums playing in the distance.

The boy stood up from his post. Ready to leave, he was heavy with guilt, but certain that the girl's grief was lost as she dreamed.


End file.
